


Best Laid Plans

by DottyasaDalmation



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottyasaDalmation/pseuds/DottyasaDalmation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel to my story Pride Comes Before a Fall but it's not necessary to have read it as I will summarise the main points in chapters 1 and 2. Basically what it says in the title: d'Artagnan's first mission doesn't quite go to plan (but when do their missions ever do?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The tight iron manacles painfully bit into his wrists even though he wasn’t struggling against them. He had gone willingly to this dark damp cellar after meekly allowing his wrists to be chained. It was the first time he had experienced being restrained like this and the romanticism had worn away after a few minutes. For a very short time he had felt like he was being a hero - exchanging his freedom for someone else’s - but being left alone in dark silence with only the clanking of his chains for company as he struggled to find a comfortable position had made him realise the truth: he hated it. He had agreed to it, he wasn’t frightened or worried and he would do it, and repeat the experience if duty called, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. For a proud man such as himself, being at the mercy of a captor didn’t come naturally. Nor did sitting around and waiting to be rescued. If given a choice, he would be the active one, the rescuer every time. However, being the youngest made him the ideal candidate for being the captive in this mission and he had volunteered himself without hesitation, delighted when the others, with some persuasion it has to be said, trusted him to play an important role in his first real mission and he was determined not to let them down.

From the stories the three inseparables had told him, being a Musketeer carried frequent risks of capture and confinement but these stories had focused on heroic rescues and bravery, almost certainly exaggerated under the influence of alcohol, rather than on how cold and hard the floor was or how irritating and restrictive manacles were. He had seen hints of distress in their eyes when some of these stories were re-told but they were fleeting and d’Artagnan hadn’t pressed them for more details of the grimmer side of capture not wanting to spoil the atmosphere and unsure of what the reaction would be. He just hoped his current confinement would be short lived and he would be able to re-tell it without too many bad memories.

He was presently in darkness helplessly awaiting rescue, his manacles attached to the wall by a chain of around three feet long allowing him a certain amount of space to pace back and forth when his impatience became overwhelming. Needless to say, there was already a muddy track worn by the Gascon’s restlessness. 

The cellar was perhaps twelve by twenty five feet. The door, reached by several stone steps, was near the right hand corner. d’Artagnan was chained in the left corner diagonally opposite the door. The floor was hardened earth but last night’s rain had seeped in causing it to become damp which was why he was standing leaning against the rough stone wall that dug uncomfortably into his back. He stamped his feet, shivering slightly, trying to fight off the creeping cold that was threatening to turn his feet into blocks of ice. To think only a short while ago he was complaining about the heat!

He had been there for what felt like hours before the door opened again casting welcome, but harsh, light into the underground chamber. He looked up expectantly hoping it was his companions come to free him. Instead, an unconscious body was shoved though the door, rolling down the steps and landing on the hard dirt floor with a thud swiftly followed by two of his jailers. d’Artagnan looked over, heart skipping a beat when he saw that it was Athos. ‘What have you done to him? This wasn’t part of the deal! You traitors!’ he pulled at his chains, ignoring the pain of the manacles now cutting deeper into his wrists, trying to get closer to his brother. ‘Release me, let me tend to him!’ 

One of the men, face twisted sadistically, strode over and grabbed the young lad by his hair pulling him back towards the corner yanking his head back so that he had to focus on staying upright. ‘Shut up or I’ll make you,’ he snarled, spittle spraying over the lad’s face. d’Artagnan yelled in anger and pain, kicking out as soon as he had sufficiently regained his balance. His kick caught his jailor on the shin. ‘You’ll pay for that, runt,’ he growled dangerously, releasing his grip on the lad’s hair and striking him across the face, snapping his head to the side knocking it against the wall with a sickening thud. d’Artagnan groaned and sank to the ground with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth from his now split lip. 

After a moment of recovery, cursing vehemently and calling Athos’ name in the hope that his brother would waken, he staggered to his feet again standing slightly hunched over with one stabilising hand on the wall. ‘We’re Musketeers, you know. You can’t keep us here. Someone will come looking for us soon.’ A troubled look passed between the two men before the assailant turned his attention back to the Gascon. ‘Have you not learned your lesson!’ he yelled, truly irate now. ‘Shut up!’ He emphasised his words with three solid punches to the lad’s gut winding him. 

‘Be careful. Father won’t be happy with damaged goods,’ Georges warned quietly, slightly afraid of his brother’s rage.

‘And he’s going to be so pleased there are Musketeers here,’ Marc replied sarcastically finishing with another vicious strike to d’Artagnan’s face, again causing his head to bounce off the rough stone wall beside him. A jagged edge caught his temple and he sank semi-consciously to the ground. He remained there, head spinning, blood dripping from the deep gash on his head and overcome with nausea, unable to do anything but worry about Athos and what had gone wrong with their plan. It was a stark contrast to where he had been less than twenty four hours ago…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know this chapter has quite a lot of background information so the story doesn't move on much but I've got the next chapter finished too so will post that today as well.

Twenty four hours ago

d’Artagnan relaxed by the side of the gently bubbling stream. The cool breeze caressing his bare torso was bliss especially after the intense Parisian heat of the previous days. The trees above him provided a natural leafy shield from the harsh glare of the sun allowing only a few warming rays through and the birdsong echoing around him lulled him towards sleep. He had missed this: enjoying the simple pleasures of nature that he had almost taken for granted on his farm. Such a contrast to the bustling, filthy streets of the city that he was still trying to fathom. He allowed himself to drift off safe in the knowledge that it was Athos' turn to be on look out. 

It had been two days since he had had one of his worst days since coming to Paris. Aramis’ advice had turned out to be correct but there was no surprise there. The sleeping draught he had given d’Artagnan after they had all had a talk had worked wonders. He had woken the next morning feeling refreshed and a day of light duties along with the easy banter of his friends further aided his recovery. His back bore no evidence of his recent punishment apart from a darkening bruise running from his right shoulder to just above his waist on the left where two of the lashes had fallen on top of each other. His spirits restored, he was back to his usual self. 

The day before, d’Artagnan had seen Eloise Villers on a nearby street and, ignoring her protests that she had thought the matter over and could handle it herself, escorted her to the captain’s office. She was quick to praise his manners once more and Treville gave an approving nod towards his new recruit on hearing that before asking him to find the inseparables so that they could all hear what she had to say.

She told them she lived on a farm, about a day’s journey from Paris, with her three boys aged 7, 10 and 12. Her husband, Marcel, had been a good man. The land had flourished under his expert hands and he had not long begun the process of passing his knowledge down to his sons when he became ill. His condition worsened until he passed away about six months ago. The family had considered themselves fairly well off as they had had some money set aside for unforeseen problems: a luxury dreamed of but unknown to many who worked the land due to the fickle nature of the weather. Marcel had been good with money and had taken care of all the finances, leaving enough for a decent standard of living. 

After he passed away Eloise said she had done her best to keep the farm going, mainly relying on her eldest son, Pierre, who had been under his father’s instruction for the longest. It was a struggle but the endless toil was paying off until the tax collector visited demanding payment. Of course she knew taxes had to be paid and had actually had the foresight to think of this despite her grief and daily struggle but what she hadn’t accounted for was exactly how crippling they would be. Over the next months she had had to dip into the family’s savings until last month there was nothing left. 

At present she told them she owed the tax collector 40 livres. She was told to pay up or she would be sorry. Her pleas for more time fell on deaf ears and further threats were made before the tax collector stormed off in a rage. A few days later Pierre didn’t appear at the end of the day. The three of them searched, calling his name, stumbling about in the dark, fear increasing by the minute. After a sleepless night, a messenger came to the door telling her Pierre was safe for now but if no taxes were forthcoming then he would be sold to pay off the debt. 

Despair, anger, hopelessness and fear overwhelmed her initially but she slowly realised she was the only person who could get her son back and the only way to do that was to raise the money by selling something or by fighting back. Deep down she knew the first option was only temporary and each month she would be worse off with her children living under constant fear of being kidnapped and, ultimately, losing the farm. The latter option, therefore, was the only real solution for her. She said this was the reason she was in Paris and the reason she wished to petition the King. The Red Guards had not even shown her the curtesy of listening to her before branding her a liar and an attention-seeker. This was when she had met d’Artagnan who had raised her hopes and somewhat restored her faith in human nature. 

After asking some further questions it was clear that the taxes were outrageously high and that Eloise was being taken advantage of. It was obvious that the tax collector had his eye on her farm and was doing his best to see her fail so that he could claim her land for himself. This was a cause close to d’Artagnan’s heart and he, in particular, was furious at the injustice of it all and Athos had to quietly remind him to calm down by placing a gentle but restraining hand on his arm.

‘I think we need to take this to the King. He needs to be made aware one of his tax collectors is blatantly corrupt,’ said Athos. 

‘I agree,’ Treville nodded. ‘Some level of corruption is to be expected but this has gone too far. This man is a bully who needs to face justice. The King needs to know how his citizens are being treated. There is no law against slavery but kidnapping and selling children is unacceptable and I believe he will agree to action being taken.’

‘Best we all go? If we stand together, the King may take us more seriously if ‘e’s in one of ‘is moods,’ Porthos suggested. 

‘Or he may throw us all out because he feels we are trying to bully him into doing something,’ Aramis added.

‘Perhaps it would be best if I stay behind. I’m not sure it will help matters if the King sees me after yesterday. Please don’t think me a coward but this matter is important to me and I wouldn’t wish to distract the King’s attention,’ d’Artagnan stated.

‘Thank you gentlemen,’ Treville raised his hands in a placating gesture. ‘As you will likely be the ones taking on this mission, it is best we all go. Porthos, the King of France does not have “moods”,’ he lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘not officially anyway.’ He raised his voice again, ‘and we will not be “bullying” him into doing anything, diplomatically persuading if necessary.’ He turned to d’Artagnan giving him a sympathetic look, ‘You’ll have to face the King again sometime lad. Might as well be today. If you’re lucky, he may not even remember your face.’ 

As they prepared to set off for the palace, Eloise quietly said to d’Artagnan, ‘I don’t mean to pry and please forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, but might I enquire as to the meaning of your statement?’

d’Artagnan sighed. ‘No, you are not speaking out of turn. You might as well hear it from me first. Like yours, mine is a long story but yesterday ended with me getting twenty lashes, on the orders of the King, for fighting in the palace grounds with one of the Red Guards. Both the King and the captain saw me punch one of them. The captain was lenient on me after my friends spoke on my behalf and he used a cane and not the whip, thank god.’

‘Oh, how awful. I’m so sorry. This wasn’t anything to do with me was it? Are you fully recovered?’

‘Yes, madam, I’m feeling much better today. Please don’t pity me: my problems are nothing compared to yours. Ultimately, it was all my own fault for hiding things and not telling my brothers the truth.’

She looked troubled for a second when he said that but then gave him an encouraging smile, ‘I’m pleased you have recovered and I pray the King has forgiven you.’


	3. Chapter 3

Once at the palace, they were fortunate to gain an immediate audience with the King. The six of them stood before the throne and bowed respectfully, Eloise looking quite taken aback by the opulent surroundings. The King looked bored, ‘Well Captain Treville, what is it now? I see you have brought your pugnacious Musketeer with you. You have learned your lesson I trust?’

d’Artagnan coloured slightly, bowing again, but then stood tall and spoke confidently, ‘Yes Your Majesty. I apologise for my behaviour, I was not myself yesterday. It will not happen again, you have my word. I have no other wish but to do my duty with honour. I pray that in the future I will redeem myself and that you will think well of me when you hear my name.’ He bowed his head again. 

‘You certainly have spirit and courage, I’ll give you that. I’ll be keeping a close watch on you. You intrigue me.’ He gave a slight wave of his hand. ‘But Treville, this is not what you came to discuss, is it? What do you have to say?’

Treville passed on all that Eloise had told him while the King listened. While Treville was talking, d’Artagnan happened to glance at Eloise who looked distinctly uneasy but he put this down to her unfamiliarity with the environment, uncertainty of the King’s reaction and the worry she had for her kidnapped son. Had his father been in her position, he would likely have felt the same way too. His keen sense of justice burned at the way she had been taken advantage of and he hoped he could play a part in putting it right. 

Thankfully the King needed very little persuasion. Naturally it was his belief that tax collectors were necessary but those such as this man who was overly abusing his position bring the King’s name into disrepute and should be arrested and dealt with. His orders were that the Musketeers bring him back to Paris for sentencing. 

Back at the garrison, strategies were discussed. 

‘I say we find out where Pierre is being ‘eld and charge in there and arrest ‘em before they know what’s ‘appening,’ Porthos began.

Eloise looked panicked. ‘No, you can’t do that. Please, there’s something you need to know and I perhaps should have mentioned this sooner. If I return to my farm with more than two people, Pierre will be shot. If you all plan on coming, two will have to travel separately and be concealed. The tax collector said he’d have someone watching the road and wouldn’t hesitate to carry out his threat.’

‘We’re used to sticking together madam, to look out for each other. It’s safer that way,’ Athos stated. 

‘Safer for us maybe, but not for Pierre and that’s who we need to think about,’ said Aramis. ‘If there is any risk to his life, we need to avoid it. Sorry, madam for putting this bluntly but what’s the sense of rescuing a dead child?’

‘I agree,’ d’Artagnan added. He turned to Eloise, ‘Do you think I could exchange myself for your son?’ He turned back to the others, ‘Then you can all charge in once he is taken to safety.’ 

She wouldn’t meet his gaze but nodded and quietly said, ‘Yes. I think that might work, if you were willing to do it.’

Athos looked at him in shock. ‘Absolutely not. I forbid it,’ he ordered. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘I think it has some merit,’ Aramis said slowly. ‘But I admit I’m wary of putting your life in danger.’

d’Artagnan grew angry. ‘I’m not a child you know! I’m not trying to become a Musketeer to stay safe. I know the risks. Don’t you trust me to handle this?’

‘Calm down. No-one’s saying you can’t do it but we don’t want to see you injured, or worse, if we can avoid it,’ Porthos explained. 

‘How long would I be in their hands? Only until Pierre was safe. An hour maybe? Perhaps two? I think I can handle that. Eloise has told us there’s only three of them in total: the tax collector and his two sons. If I’m held that leaves three of you to three of them. Far better odds than I know you usually have. Anyway, they’re not going to harm me if they think I’m to be sold, right?’ He glared at the three men in turn. This was what he’d been waiting for - a chance to prove himself on a real mission - he couldn’t let it slip through his fingers. 

‘He’s right, Athos,’ Aramis argued. ‘This could work. You and d’Artagnan travel back with Madam Villers, Porthos and I will not be far behind. We could stay at an inn then, after the exchange has been made, the three of us can go and rescue our brother and arrest those men.’

‘Porthos, what do you think?’ Athos asked.

‘I ‘ave to say I’m not ‘appy about it but I do think it’s the best way. d’Artagnan is the youngest. If they’re looking for someone to sell, I would say ‘e’s a catch being young, ‘andsome and a farm boy and all that. You’d fetch a pretty price,’ he winked at d’Artagnan who rolled his eyes.

Athos sighed. ‘I see your point Porthos, he’s the best catch of the lot of us.’ He pointedly ignored Aramis’ slightly hurt raised brows and d’Artagnan’s embarrassed shake of the head and continued, ‘I’m still not entirely happy but if you all think it best then I won’t stop you.’ He glowered fiercely at them all, ‘However, if any harm comes to d’Artagnan, you’ll have me to answer to.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks to those who have commented and left kudos. The story does return to the cliffhanger in chapter one soon (well, fairly soon - a few other things will happen before then).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter has taken longer than planned to edit and I'm still not sure I'm 100% happy with it so I may come back and edit it more later once the whole story is done.

‘Come on little brother, time to move on,’ his mentors’ voice interrupted d’Artagnan’s riverside snooze. 

‘Less of the “little” if you don’t mind,’ he said groaning, stretching and getting up reaching for his shirt and weapons which were lying in easy reach beside him. 

‘You’re the youngest so you’re stuck with being “little” like it or not, little brother.’

‘I swear, if you call me little one more time I’ll knock your head off, mentor or not.’ 

Athos simply raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

‘What?’

‘Honestly, you’re behaving like a child. You look comical scowling, fists balled. I’m just waiting for you to stamp your foot little brother.’

‘I’ll show you who’s little,’ d’Artagnan launched himself at the older man, and promptly found himself on the ground blinking up at him in surprise. 

‘Thinking with your heart again,’ Athos said offering him a hand up. ‘You’re too easily provoked. Plan your attack then act.’ 

The Gascon got to his feet brushing off the leaves and dirt clinging to him, still annoyed at Athos but recognising the wisdom of his words. ‘Well then, you’d better watch your step after we’re finished with this mission because I’ll spend my time planning suitable payback for that old man.’

Glancing over at Eloise who had been adjusting her horse’s stirrups, Athos replied, ‘Enough of your cheek, mount up.’ 

Looking at the inviting water the younger man wished he had had time for a quick swim as well but it was not to be. There would be time for that after the mission, duty came first as always. He mounted up before Athos helped Eloise and they continued on their way now that the horses had rested. 

Lush green forest with its protective shield gradually gave way to open fields blanketing softly rolling hills as d’Artagnan entertained the other two with his excited, incessant chatter. Athos, bringing up the rear, rolled his eyes and wished for peace but he was too much of a gentleman to say anything in front of a lady, especially a lady who seemed enthralled with the stories being told. 

Fortunately the heat that had baked the land had lessened. Now dark thunderclouds were gathering behind them, the smell of rain was in the air and the wind was increasing in force rapidly cooling the land to a pleasant temperature. They just hoped the others wouldn’t get caught in the storm. 

An hour later they arrived at Eloise’s farm after stopping to collect her youngest sons from a neighbour. Two boys came running when they spotted them. They both had auburn tones like their mother in their curly hair and hazel eyes that had lost some of their childish innocence. d’Artagnan felt an immediate bond with those children, after all he knew what it was like to lose a parent and take on the burden of farm chores at a young age. ‘Athos, d’Artagnan meet Paul and Pascal my younger two sons.’ Eloise said after greeting, kissing and hugging her boys. The boys were overawed at the two soldiers but were too excited to stay silent for long. 

‘Are you here to save my brother?,’ one asked squealing with joy and miming duelling on hearing the answer. 

‘Can we come and help? We want to help save him too,’ the other eagerly said joining his brother in the mock duel. 

‘No boys, it is too dangerous for you. You can help by staying at home and keeping things running smoothly. Can you do that?’ their mother said smiling fondly at them. 

‘You can rely on us,’ the older of the two said stopping his brief play, the sparkle disappearing from his face replaced by a seriousness that told of the heavy burden placed on his young shoulders. 

Eloise’s farmhouse was modest but comfortable with three bedrooms, a communal living area and a kitchen at the back. As the door closed they could hear the first rumblings of thunder in the distance: the storm had caught up with them. The two men glanced at each other, both thinking of their companions, knowing how awful it was to travel in a storm. ‘Don’t worry, they’re big enough to look after themselves,’ Athos quietly reassured d’Artagnan. While Eloise bustled around preparing some food for them all, Athos questioned her on the location of the tax collector’s residence. ‘It’s about a mile east of here. I’m eager to have my son return to me. I wish with all my heart we could visit today. I’m unsure whether I can live another day without him by my side.’ 

‘I understand your love and concern for him madam, but we need to stick to the plan and wait until tomorrow. We will negotiate the exchange in the morning and then meet at the inn where Porthos and Aramis are staying. We told them to expect us tomorrow. We’ll leave you and Pierre there - it should be safe enough - then the three of us will rescue d’Artagnan and place the tax collector under arrest.’ 

‘I think it best if you stayed here with Paul and Pascal while d’Artagnan and I negotiate the exchange. It would be suspicious if you were to be with us as well and may hinder the negotiations. Pierre can ride back here with me and then we all go to the inn together. If there is any suspicion of a plot or show of force, the tax collector will not hesitate to take action and I do not want to risk Pierre’s life more than I need to.’ 

‘Athos, I think Madame Villers is correct. It would look suspect if you were to come with us initially. And you could keep an eye on the boys here. See no harm comes to them. I think it best we go alone. The time it would take to come back here then go to the inn is minimal. I won’t come to any harm in the extra few minutes it takes,’ d’Artagnan advised.

‘Well. I’m not sure I’m happy about it but it does seem logical. If at any point in the exchange, you feel something is wrong can I rely on you to think with your head and not your heart?’ Athos glared sternly at his brother.

‘Of course. I won’t endanger Pierre - or myself - needlessly,’ d’Artagnan huffed thinking back to the brief lesson by the river.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to question your ability. I do trust you to do this but I would never forgive myself if any harm came to you, you know that don’t you?’ Athos said softly, the strength of his concern hitting d’Artagnan like a punch. 

‘I’ll be careful, I promise,’ he replied reassuringly. He grinned, ‘It’ll take more than an evil tax collector to get rid of me.’ His grin faded and they looked in alarm at the loud sniff that came from Eloise. d’Artagnan was at her side in a second. ‘Please don’t cry. We’ll get your son back.’ Her sobs grew louder. 

‘I’m … I’m sorry. It … it’s just I … I can’t stop thinking about him. Being back here. Just waiting. I can’t do this, I…’ d’Artagnan put a comforting arm around her shoulders and led her to a seat. He knelt down and took one of her hands in his.

‘I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. You’ve had a difficult time with the loss of your husband then trying to work the farm and now this but you’ve coped so well. You came all the way to Paris, alone, to fight for your family. That took courage. You’re not alone now. You have me, Athos, Aramis and Porthos fighting for you. In a few hours time, I’m sure you’ll have Pierre back at your side. Musketeers are not used to failing. Please, be strong for Paul and Pascal. They need you too. Why don’t you spend some time with them and Athos and I will see to the food.’ 

She nodded wiping her tears away, ‘Thank you. You have been so kind to me,’ she looked at Athos too, ‘I don’t deserve it.’ 

‘Of course you do. I know what it is like to feel helpless when a brother has been taken or is missing. But, as d’Artagnan has said, we’ll have Pierre back within a few hours. For now leave things to us. We’ll cope here. Us Musketeers have to cook and fend for ourselves when away from the garrison and we’re quite adept at it.’

She gave a half smile, ‘I look forward to you proving that. I have no inclination towards food at the moment but my sons will. Thank you, you have more than done your duty so far.’

‘Come on, come and sit with your boys.’ d’Artagnan led her through to the living area where the boys were sitting quietly. He didn’t think they had heard anything through the thick oak door but he supposed they would have guessed what was going on anyway. They had had to grow up fast in the last few months. She winced as she sat back in the chair. d’Artagnan’s eyes narrowed, ‘Are you injured?’ 

She brushed off his concern, ‘No, I’m fine. Just a little stiff after a day’s riding.’

‘Are you sure? For I noticed you seemed in pain when you sat in the captain’s office too.’

‘I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to riding such long distances.’ 

If it had been one of his friends he may have insisted on checking them over but he certainly wasn’t going to do that with a woman he had really only met so he rejoined Athos in the kitchen after telling her to shout if she needed anything. 

Walking into the kitchen to assist, he cocked his head to one side frowning, ‘Does Eloise seem okay to you, apart from the obvious of course?’

‘What do you think is wrong?’ Athos turned to look at him.

‘I’m not sure. Something doesn’t feel right but I don’t know what or why.’

‘Do you want to change the plan? Do you think it too dangerous? You don’t have to exchange yourself for Pierre. I’m not saying you can’t do it but if you think something is wrong…’

He shook his head. ‘No, it’s probably nothing. It’s maybe just that this seems very personal to me. The boys losing their father and having to take on extra responsibilities. And Eloise suffering due to taxes. I think it’s just all reminding me of my life on the farm.’

‘If you’re sure? Is that all it is?’

‘Yes. I’m sure, and I’m fine.’ Athos raised an eyebrow. ‘Really. I promised I wouldn’t lie to you again, and I intend on keeping that promise. Let’s get on with this, I’m starving now.’

‘You’re always starving! I don’t know how you stay so skinny.’

‘Shut up! Let me help,’ d’Artagnan ordered, gently pushing Athos aside slightly as he picked up a knife and began chopping some carrots.

‘Hmm is that any way to speak to your mentor?’ Athos teased.

d’Artagnan paused but didn’t look up so missed the mischievous glint in Athos’ eye, ‘What?’ He shook his head and resumed chopping. ‘Sorry. This feels strange. So familiar. Like I’m back on the farm with my father.’

‘Oh, so I’m old enough to be your father now am I? Well that would make you my son and you’d better watch how you speak to me, or else!’

d’Artagnan looked in Athos' direction in bewilderment until he realised he was just teasing. Then his expression changed to disbelief that his normally serious mentor was actually joking, particularly under these circumstances. ‘Or else what?’ he replied raising an eyebrow teasingly going with the flow. 

Athos looked around then held up a wooden spoon, ‘Or else I’ll tan your hide.’

‘Oh well, now you sound just like my mother. You’re only lacking the dress, perhaps Eloise will lend you one of hers if you ask nicely.’ 

Athos’ face was a picture, ‘You cheeky …’ 

‘Too slow,’ d’Artagnan teased as he dodged a swipe. ‘Feeling your age old man?’

‘You impudent rascal how …’

‘Now, now. Calm down. Who’s thinking with their heart now?’ d’Artagnan laughed as he narrowly missed a second swipe. He glanced guiltily at the door. Athos saw it and immediately became serious again. Both turned back to the task in hand.

‘Now’s the wrong time to be laughing, but I needed that,’ d’Artagnan said quietly. 

‘I agree, I needed that too. I don’t know what came over me but it’s been a long time since I have felt so relaxed with someone. You know you have brought some much needed joy and youthfulness into my life,’ Athos remarked.

‘So why has it been a long time?’ d’Artagnan asked tentatively because this was the first time Athos had spoken about his life. 

There was sadness in Athos’ eyes as he shook his head. ‘Now’s not the time to talk about me. Some day, when I’m ready, I promise I’ll tell you more. Tell me about your life on the farm. The happy memories.’

So d’Artagnan chatted away as they worked, telling Athos of his earliest memories of his mother, father and sister before death crept in to steal the family’s happiness. His happiest memory was of the four of them cooking on an open fire by the stream that ran through the farm one summer’s evening, laughing as they tried to keep the food from burning. His father had taught him some swordsmanship then told them stories of the Musketeers as they all snuggled together under the stars. That night, and for many nights afterwards, he fell asleep dreaming of his future as a soldier.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we catch up with Porthos and Aramis...

Porthos and Aramis were travelling about three hours behind the others. They were later than intended because Treville had asked them to deliver a message on the way which had taken longer than they had thought. 

‘I ‘ope Athos is looking after our little brother for us,’ Porthos commented riding in front of Aramis on the narrow winding path through the trees.

‘I’m sure he is doing just fine. It was Athos who had reservations about d’Artagnan being ready for this so he better look out for him. I have to say I’ll be having serious words with him if any harm befalls our new recruit.’ Aramis smiled fondly sweeping a low hanging branch from his face, ‘Our young Gascon would be offended if he knew we thought he needed looking after.’

‘’e’s always gonna need lookin’ after that one. ‘E’s good for Athos though,’

‘I agree. Athos has been so focused on training him, he seems to have forgotten his own problems somewhat.’ 

‘Mmm. I’d say ‘e’s even been close to smiling when d’Artagnan’s been with us. It makes a pleasant change,’ Porthos said gathering his cloak around him as the air grew chillier.

‘Hmmp, that’s no easy task to get any sign of emotion out of Athos. I swear his face is carved out of wood some days. It’ll be good for them both to bond on this journey, maybe he can get Athos to loosen up a bit more.’

‘That’s if they ‘aven’t been at each other’s throats. You know how antsy Athos can get when he spends long hours in company and d’Artagnan may not realise when to shut up despite me having words with ‘im before ‘e left. You know ‘ow eager ‘e is and ‘ow ‘e forgets to listen when ‘e’s excited. I’ve not seen ‘im so enthusiastic since the day ‘e stormed into our lives determined to kill Athos.’

‘Mmm he’s certainly delighted to be allowed out on his first mission. He’s been like a hyperactive child who has had ten Christmases at once since Treville said he would be coming with us. However, there’s a lady present so I trust they’ll both be on their best behaviour.’

‘Is it just that the trees are getting thicker or is it getting darker?’ Porthos asked looking up and around. 

Aramis looked up and considered for a second, ‘I would say a storm is coming.’

‘Perfect. Just what we need. I ‘ate travelling in the rain,’ Porthos grumbled.

Aramis rolled his eyes. ‘Now who’s the child? Don’t be so soft! It’s just a bit of water. It won’t hurt you.’ He had just finished speaking when they were blinded by a flash of light and deafened by a simultaneous rumble of thunder and the cracking of wood. 

‘Porthos! Look out!’ But Aramis’ scream was lost. His horse obeyed his quick reflexive instruction to go to the right, narrowly missing the tree that came crashing down to his left. His horse snorted and bucked, however Aramis kept a tight hold on the reins and calmed him down with a few pats and clicks of the tongue in the now quiet forest. Quiet apart from the sound of a spooked horse racing wildly through the trees. ‘Porthos,’ thought Aramis. ‘Porthos hold on, I’m coming,’ he yelled urging his horse through the broken undergrowth following the path that Porthos’ horse had made. He gained on them seeing that Porthos was clinging on dodging from side to side and crouching low to avoid the biggest branches. Aramis urged his horse to go faster. If he could just get alongside him, he could maybe try to grab the reins. Just a little further …

Too late. He saw Porthos slide off the horse and tumble over. The horse carried on. Leaving it to come back of its own accord, Aramis pulled his horse to a sudden stop and jumped off. ‘Porthos, speak to me. Can you hear me?’ There was no answer. He kneeled beside his friend and rolled him over onto his back. His face was covered in scratches - minor wounds from the smaller branches he was unable to avoid - but he had a large gash just below his hairline on the left side of his head that looked more serious. ‘Porthos. Come on, wake up,’ he lightly tapped his cheek several times. 

‘Ummm,’

‘That’s it Porthos, wake up. You’ll be fine. You hit a branch and fell off your horse.’

‘Ummm ’ead ‘urts’

The rain began to fall. Heavily. Despite the shelter of the trees it rapidly soaked both men, snaking under their clothes in cold rivulets. Aramis pulled his sodden hat down tighter shivering at the sudden change in temperature. 

Grabbing Porthos' upper arm and wrist, Aramis continued to urge him to move. ‘Come on my friend you need to get up. Don’t want you coming down with pneumonia as well as concussion.’

With Aramis’ assistance, Porthos gained his feet and stood swaying a little clutching his head groaning. Everything swam dizzyingly out of focus in front of his eyes. Aramis put his arm around the larger man who was leaning heavily on him and guided him back to the path whistling and calling for the runaway horse. It was slow going both dodging the broken branches and keeping the larger man from staggering too much. The rain didn’t help matters. The undergrowth was slippery almost causing Porthos to fall a couple of times, and Aramis tightened his grip on him desperate to prevent him from further injury. ‘Definitely a concussion,’ Aramis thought to himself, ‘the sooner we reach our destination the better. He’ll likely need some stitches too.’

By the time they reached the path, Aramis was exhausted but relieved when he saw both horses patiently waiting for them. A glance in their direction confirmed that they were no worse after their ordeal. Aramis’ horse had always been the calmer of the two but both had been trained to cope with the noise of a battlefield so, once Porthos’ horse had recovered from the initial shock of almost being flattened by a tree, and finding his rider no longer on his back, he had calmed and returned to his companion. 

With a final push, Aramis helped his injured brother to mount his horse. Urging the larger man to hold on tight, Aramis mounted his own then they set off again with Porthos in front so that he could keep an eye on him. The rain continued to lash down on them unforgivingly, cleaning the blood from Porthos’ face. The medic had roughly bound the wound to stem the flow of blood, reassuring his brother that he would be fine but concealing his true concern. Aramis sighed and prayed the rest of the journey would be quick and uneventful so that he could give Porthos the care he needed. 

The medic knew the best course of action for Porthos was to find somewhere as soon as possible but he also knew the others were relying on them to assist in d’Artagnan’s rescue the next day so he felt he had no option but to push on. He knew also that Porthos would not forgive him, or himself, if they didn’t reach their destination as planned.

A weary two hours later, Aramis spied the inn he was looking out for just as darkness was falling. The rain hadn’t let up and both of them were shivering uncontrollably. They had ridden side by side as soon as the path had widened. Porthos was holding up remarkably well but he was noticeably swaying by this point and Aramis had had to keep urging him to stay awake. 

Reaching the door, Aramis dismounted and helped the larger man who would have slumped to the ground had he not been supporting him. Aramis knocked urgently and called out. The door was answered by a plump, middle aged woman who ushered them in right away. 

‘Oh, you poor things. No-one should be out in weather like this. My son will tend to your horses. Let’s get you to a room right away. You’re lucky, I’ve only one left. Three other travellers came in earlier seeking shelter from this dreadful storm. Here we are, in you go,’ she held the door open. Aramis thanked her as he lead Porthos to the nearest chair. 

‘I’ll light the fire for you. You must be freezing. Look at you, soaked to the skin you are. You need to get out of those clothes before you both catch your death of cold.’

‘Thank you,’ Aramis said gratefully. ‘Please could you fetch us some warm water, bandages, towels, and I wonder if you might have any spare blankets. My companion is in urgent need of medical attention.’

‘Yes, sir. Right away. Do you need a doctor?’

‘No, I can manage, thank you.’

When she disappeared to gather the items requested, Aramis turned to his companion. ‘Stay awake for me Porthos,’ he urged as he began stripping his sodden clothes off. A few minutes later Porthos was in his braies and being rubbed vigorously with a rough towel that had been delivered along with the other requested items. Once satisfied he was thoroughly dry, Aramis wrapped blankets round his large frame and laid him on the bed closest to the fire that was now burning brightly sending much needed warmth towards them both. Using the light of the fire and the candles now darkness had completely fallen, Aramis examined the head wound. After gently cleaning it, the medic was relieved to see no infection had set in, as yet. Unfortunately it would need a few stitches to keep it that way. Throughout his ministrations, Porthos had been wake but only just. 

Aramis tenderly cupped his brother’s cheek with his hand, ‘Porthos, can you hear me?’ A slight nod followed by a groan confirmed this. ‘I need to stitch your wound. Do you understand?’ He got a grunt in reply. ‘Okay. I’ll be as quick as I can but it’ll hurt.’ 

‘J’s do i’,’ his brother slurred.

Aramis prepared the needle and thread and tentatively began, keeping a close watch on his friend’s hands and wishing there was at least one of his brothers here to hold him down. The first stitch elicited a moan of pain and Aramis deftly ducked to avoid Porthos’ flying fist. ‘Shh. Calm down,’ he soothed as he resumed stitching. He was concentrating on the third stitch when Porthos’ fist connected solidly with his jawbone. Cursing his lack of attention to his brother’s hands, he ignored the throbbing and resumed stitching; however, Porthos must have fallen unconscious as there was no further reaction. 

Wound tended to, Aramis left him to sleep for the present. It was only now his brother was safe that he realised just how cold and wet he was himself. Aramis stripped, washed and dried then wrapped himself in a warm blanket. He felt too tired to eat, but, recognising the need to keep his strength up and knowing Porthos would be angry with him if he neglected himself, he ate some of the stew that had been brought to the room at the same time as the other things. It was only once he had begun eating that he discovered how hungry he was. After eating, he woke Porthos to check he was okay and to feed him some stew. Satisfied he had done all he could for the moment, Aramis curled up next to his brother for comfort, warmth and to ensure he would notice if Porthos needed him during the night. Exhausted, he was asleep in minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other two boys will be back in the next chapter. This is the only chapter they don't make an appearance in.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return to d'Artagnan and co in this chapter. I debated what they would drink at breakfast time but decided to go for coffee in the end. According to the National Coffee Association USA, coffee was introduced to Europe in the 1600’s. It was in Venice by 1615 and in London by the mid 1600’s so I am assuming it would probably have reached France sometime between those dates.
> 
> I would also like to say a big thank you to those who have commented, especially DebbieF and Sigmund who have kept me going with their comments.

d’Artagnan was up early the next morning. The sun streamed in through the windows gently warming the kitchen. As he filled up a pot of water and put it on the stove to heat up enjoying the familiarity of a routine he hadn’t done for a while, he reflected once more on how strange it was to be back in the countryside and how small his world had been prior to living in Paris. He paused, closing his eyes. It was almost as if he was on his farm again: the earthy smell of the land washed by last night’s rain; the quiet, peacefulness with only the sounds of birds awakening; and the comforting feeling of being in the midst of a family again. He half expected his father to appear at any moment. Before he became too morose, he heard footsteps. Athos joined him. 

‘Morning, any second thoughts about what you’ve to do today? I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind and wish me to take your place,’ he said sitting down, content to let d’Artagnan handle making a drink for them both.

‘No, I can do this. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,’ d’Artagnan said confidently trying not to sound as frustrated as he felt about Athos’ repeated questioning over the last day or so. 

‘Yes, I know you’ve said that before but, even if you say it a million times, I’ll still worry about you from the moment you leave my sight until I see you again,’ Athos explained sensing the lad’s patience wearing thin. 

‘And I’ve also said many times I’m not a child and I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,’ the Gascon said firmly but softly. ‘Here drink this,’ he handed Athos a cup of steaming hot coffee. 

They drank their coffee in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. d’Artagnan remained standing feeling too restless to sit down, a combination of nerves and excitement suddenly making their presence felt. Athos slammed his cup down, the remaining coffee sloshing onto the table, and leapt up. ‘This is torture. I can’t just sit here waiting around for you to hand yourself into the hands of those thugs. I’m going for a walk.’ He gripped his brother’s shoulders tightly, ‘Look after yourself and don’t do anything stupid.’

d’Artagnan took a step back, ‘Do anything stupid! Me? I’m insulted you think so little of me.’ The look he gave the older man was a mixture of disbelief and humour.

‘d’Artagnan, I’m trying to be serious here. Wait for us and don’t try to be a hero.’

d’Artagnan grinned, eyes sparkling with life, ‘I don’t need to try to be a hero. I feel like a hero, giving up my freedom to free the innocent. If this is what being on a mission means then I could do this all day every day.’

Athos rolled his eyes in exasperation, ‘I know you’re excited to be on your first mission but missions don’t always go to plan, you know that. I need to know you’ll be careful. If anything goes wrong, think first then act.’ He raised his hand, palm towards the other man, ‘Yes, I’ve also said this before but I’ll keep saying it.’

d’Aragnan sighed, ‘I’ll be careful. I’ll think before I act. I’ll not do anything stupid. Do you believe me now?’

‘I believe you, and I believe in you too. Don’t forget that. For the last time, don’t take any risks whatsoever. I swear your hide will be severely tanned if you do. Understand?’ he said with a stern glare. d’Artagnan simply nodded. ‘Good.’ He gave his brother a brief but firm hug before striding off. 

Eloise appeared a few minutes later and began making breakfast for them all, sending her sons to see if any fresh eggs had been laid. She commented on Athos’ absence after beginning cooking. ‘He’s gone for a walk. He’s too concerned about me getting hurt to sit around waiting. I tried to tell him I’ll only be at their mercy for a short time and I could handle this but he’s such a worrier.’

‘One of the sons likes violence a bit too much but he shouldn’t do you any serious damage.’

‘Well that’s good to hear!’ d’Artagnan commented sarcastically. ‘You’ve told us everything we need to know, haven’t you?’

She turned to see to the eggs, ‘Of course. You’ll be fine.’ She turned back to face him. ‘I’m very grateful to all of you for doing this for me, and for Pierre.’

 

After eating, they prepared to leave. d’Artagnan felt naked without his weapons but it would look suspicious if he was armed. Eloise left final instructions for her sons telling them not to talk to any strangers and insisting they offer Athos the food she had put aside for him when he returned saying he would need to keep his strength up for the task ahead. 

Twenty minutes later they approached a rundown house set far back from the main road and surrounded on three sides by trees and bushes. Eloise had grown quieter and quieter as they had approached giving only monosyllabic answers to d’Artagnan’s attempts to make conversation. The latter part of their journey had passed in silence.

Eloise advised d’Artagnan to stay by the gate while she went in to discuss the exchange. He was surprised to see her come back to the door so quickly. With a wave of her hand, she indicated he was to come inside too. As soon as he stepped through the door he sensed a hostile atmosphere. He glanced around, the room he found himself in was dirty with bits of broken furniture scatted haphazardly. Eloise stood back with her head lowered.

Three men surrounded him. The first was tall and lanky with shifty eyes which darted between all of them without making eye contact. The second was clearly his brother as he had the same hooked nose but he was big and beefy with a sadistic smile. Scars laced his face and arms. The other was obviously their father as he looked much older. He had an evil look about him and fixed d’Artagnan with an intense glare, ‘On your knees! Hands out in front of you!’ he growled. d’Artagnan obeyed, slowly kneeling on the dusty floor. The lanky man, Georges, produced a set of manacles which he swiftly secured round the Gascon’s wrists. d’Artagnan suppressed an exclamation of pain but couldn’t stop himself flinching from the tight restraints that nipped the thin skin inside his wrists which earned him a growled, ‘Stay still,’ along with a heavy cuff to the back of the head from the sadistic man, Marc. The manacles were attached to a chain held by Georges. ‘Give it here. He looks like he might be trouble,’ Marc said grabbing the chain from his brother who, used to following orders, gave it up without protest. 

The tax collector grabbed d’Artagnan’s chin forcing his head up and to the side. d’Artagnan had to will himself not to pull away from his filthy fingers and tight grip. ‘You’re a pretty one, ain’t you? Should get a pretty profit from you anyway.’

‘I know some people who’re on the look out for boys like him. He’s perfect,’ Marc said examining the kneeling lad like a farmer would an animal. ‘He could be useful for all kinds of work.’

d’Artagnan’s disgust rose by the second but he remained docile despite the rage burning inside him. Revenge would come once his brothers arrived. He would pay this family back tenfold for their treatment of him.

‘Get the boy Georges,’ his father ordered looking at his son. 

A minute later Pierre was dragged into the room still manacled looking scared and dirty but seemingly unharmed. d’Artagnan shivered at the thought of the young boy being at the mercy of this violent family. He was only too happy to exchange himself in order to allow Pierre to escape this terrible place.

‘Mother!’ he exclaimed beaming, moving towards her. 

‘Not so fast,’ the tax collector said roughly grabbing his shirt and pulling him back. The boy lost his footing and fell backwards banging his shoulder on a piece of broken furniture. Eloise gasped and started to step towards him but she was roughly held back by Georges who then began securing her wrists too. 

‘Hey. Be careful, he’s only a child,’ d’Artagnan protested trying to reach out to help him. 

‘Oi! You keep your mouth shut and leave him alone,’ Marc snarled violently yanking the chain causing him to topple to the side. ‘Get up! On your feet!’ A harsh kick to his ribs emphasised the order. He stood up slowly, wary of his captor’s feet and fists. ‘I can see you’re going to be trouble. Let’s get you to the cellar before you try anything else.’

d’Artagnan allowed himself to be led outside followed by Georges who slammed his fist into the Gascon’s back when he felt he wasn’t going fast enough. The unexpected blow caused him to fall against Marc who turned and delivered a stinging backhand across his cheek coupled with a warning not to touch him. d’Artagnan bit back a retort heeding Athos’ advice to think with his head and not with his heart - which desperately wanted to lash out and hurl insults at his abusers. 

Reaching the cellar door at the side of the house, he stumbled down the steps into the room below as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Each stumble caused the manacles to bite deeper into his wrists but he bit back his protests. Not because he was afraid of Marc but he could tell he enjoyed causing pain therefore he was determined not to play into his hands and give him a reason to cause even more pain, nor was he going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting. Marc led him to the far corner of the cold, damp cellar and attached the chain to the wall. ‘Not a sound from you or you’ll wish you’d never been born,’ Marc threatened giving him a punch to the gut and another to his left arm for good measure. He walked back up the steps slamming the heavy wooden door behind him leaving d’Artagnan doubled over, left arm across his stomach, right hand clutching his upper left arm, gasping for breath in the dark with only his own thoughts for company.


	7. Chapter 7

Athos had been walking for about fifteen minutes when he stopped. It wasn’t helping. He threw himself on the ground and, sighing, rested his head in his hands, drowning in a whirlpool of emotions. Had he been in Paris and off duty he would have sought solace in a few bottles of wine in order to suppress his thoughts but he was on a mission therefore he had to live with them and that meant dealing with them. 

d’Artagnan was the source of his troubles. In the short time he had known him, he had definitely found his way to Athos’ heart. He had tried but failed to keep a distance from the lad. Being a strict taskmaster seemed only to increase the boy’s awe and admiration of him which made the lad even more determined to be friendly towards him and worm his way into his heart and, once there, grip on tightly. Only two people had done that in his life and both were now dead. Was it any wonder that he feared for d’Artagnan now? Athos wasn’t afraid of much but he was afraid of losing people and therefore it was far easier to avoid forming close relationships than to deal with loss. Aramis and Porthos were close to him but that was different. Yes, he would be devastated if he lost either of them but they had years of experience behind them and didn’t need him looking out for them all the time. d’Artagnan was so young and inexperienced. He followed him around like a lost puppy especially when they were off duty. How could he not be protective towards him, especially now when he was going off on his own for the first time. d’Artagnan alone … that scared him more than he was willing to admit. 

The rational part of his mind knew that he was over-reacting as their plan was sound and there should be little danger to the youngster but, just knowing he was going to be imprisoned and at the mercy of bullies, even for a short time, was hard to bear. He knew d’Artagnan wasn’t a child anymore but he still had that childish innocence at times. It had been eroded somewhat by his recent experiences but how much more would be stolen from him during this mission? Athos wanted no part in that robbery. If he emerged unscathed from this, what of future missions? The irrational part of him wanted to keep him close, protect him and keep him safe - forever. 

Last night in the kitchen he had acted completely out of character when he had playfully teased the Gascon. Athos still couldn’t fully explain it but he supposed he had seen his brother Thomas in the lad and being in a domestic situation had brought it on. The words had been out of his mouth before he had known what he was doing. He was telling the truth when he had told d’Artagnan that he had brought joy and youthfulness to his life: they had been in short supply since he had been forced to hang Milady five years ago. He couldn’t bear to lose that again.

Athos mentally shook himself: this wasn’t going to help. He should return. Paul and Pascal needed his protection now while Eloise and d’Artagnan were doing what they had to do. He got to his feet and walked back down the hill. Halfway down he noticed the two of them setting off. Athos wasn’t a religious man like Aramis but he said a quick prayer anyway. 

Arriving back at the house, he met Paul and Pascal in the kitchen washing up. ‘Maman has left some breakfast for you sir,’ Pascal said indicating a plate on the table in the centre of the room. 

‘Thank you but I’m not really hungry,’ he explained. ‘You may have it if you wish.’

‘d’Artagnan said you might say that. Maman and him told me to say you need to keep your strength up if you are to be any use to him,’ Paul argued. 

‘Hmm. He may be right,’ reflected Athos, inwardly smiling at how well his brother knew him. He sat down, pulled the plate closer and played with the food for a while. After a few mouthfuls he really couldn’t stomach any more. He had tried. 

By now the boys had finished in the kitchen and left saying they were going to do some chores. Athos stood to take the plate outside to get rid of the remains but after taking a step towards the door he began to feel dizzy. The room spun uncontrollably. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes just before he dropped to the ground in a heap. The plate clattered to the floor, rolled towards the door and gradually spun slower and slower until there was only silence. 

***

‘Athos, Marc and Georges are coming!’ Pascal shouted in a panic as he flew through the door, his brother close on his heels. They froze. They looked at each other. Paul was the first to recover, ‘Athos, can you hear me?’ he said as he sank to his knees and began shaking the unconscious man they had almost tripped over. 

‘Is he dead?’ Pascal asked fearfully still rooted to the spot.

‘No, he’s breathing. We can’t let him fall into those men’s hands. Come on, wake up!’ Paul tried slapping him but to no avail. 

‘Well what do we have here?’ Georges asked stomping into the kitchen with Marc. 

‘Two pesky rats I believe. Best thing for vermin is drowning I always say,’ Marc sneered grabbing Pascal. 

‘Leave him alone you bully!’ Paul shouted rising to his feet. 

‘Not so fast,’ Georges said grabbing him. 

‘Is that any way to speak to your betters?’ Marc scolded. ‘Think you ought to be taught a lesson.’ 

‘Please, leave them. Just take what you came for and leave us. Please,’ Pierre begged entering the kitchen. ‘Whatever they said they did not mean.’

‘Pierre!’ both boys said in unison, eyes alight with hope now their oldest brother was back with them. ‘Please help us. They are going to take Athos,’ Paul continued.

‘I know. That’s the agreement. Just let them do what they have to do,’ Pierre said softly. ‘Please. Do it for me.’ 

Georges felt all the resistance leave Paul. ‘At least one of you is speaking sense,’ he said releasing his grip on the boy. ‘Marc, let’s just get what we came for and go.’

‘Shame. I could’ve had fun with you three. Maybe still will in the future next time you fall short on your taxes,’ Marc said releasing Pascal and shoving him into Pierre’s waiting arms. 

 

***

Porthos shifted in his sleep growing restless causing Aramis, who was entwined with him, to wake from a light sleep. He looked fondly at his brother whose face was lit by the first rays of the sunrise streaming through the window. Reaching to adjust the bandage that had slipped slightly during the night, his fingers brushed Porthos’ cheek. Porthos murmured softly and gently swatted his fingers away as if they were a fly then scratched his cheek. He opened his eyes. 

‘Mornin’’

‘Morning. How are you feeling?’

‘Umm, I’ve been worse.’

‘What do you remember?’

‘Falling off that damn horse. ‘Alf sleeping on the journey ‘ere, wherever “‘ere” is. Being cold and sore. Not much else.’ He lifted the blankets and discovered one wrapped around his naked body. ‘I’m guessing you ‘ad to put me to bed then?’

‘Yes, after cleaning and stitching your wound. How’s your head?’

‘Sore but bearable. Thank you for looking after me.’ He touched the bandage, ‘Added another scar then to impress the ladies.’ He looked closely at Aramis, grasping his chin and turning his head to face him. Seeing the large, colourful bruise, his eyes narrowed. ‘Looks like you got yourself an injury too. You run into a branch as well?’

Aramis lowered his eyes, ‘Something like that, yes. Must’ve been when I was racing after you.’

‘Aramis look at me. I know when you’re lying. I did this to you, didn’t I?’ His voice became stern. ‘Tell me the truth this time.’

Aramis grimaced, ‘It was my fault. I was too slow to move out of the way. I should’ve been watching. Don’t feel guilty.’

‘I’m so sorry, Aramis. I apologise. You need to knock me out next time. Promise me that.’

‘It was only a punch and what’s a punch between friends. I know you didn’t mean it. I couldn’t knock you out for fear of doing you more damage. Hell, you already had a concussion.’

‘I ‘ope you took care of yourself too last night. Did you even eat? You know what ‘appened last time.’ 

Aramis sighed, frustrated with Porthos’ fussing but knowing he only did it because he cared. He would do the same if he were Porthos. ‘Yes. I ate once you were comfortable.’

Porthos just stared at him.

‘I promise. I’m not lying. Look, there’s my empty bowl.’

‘Good, cause if you ‘adn’t, we would be ‘aving a long discussion. Wonder ‘ow the others are getting on.’

‘Athos should be here soon so we’d better get moving.’ Aramis freed himself from the blankets shivering a little when the cool air hit his naked body and checked to see if their clothes had dried. Seeing they were, he turned back to his friend, ‘Are you sure you’re fine to do this?’ 

‘Yes, don’t worry about me. It’s d’Artagnan we should be concerned about.’

 

***

An hour later they were even more concerned about d’Artagnan as Athos had still not shown up. ‘He was supposed to have been here by now,’ Aramis said pacing up and down the room. 

‘I say we go to the farm. If there’s trouble there, we can ‘elp. If there’s trouble elsewhere, maybe one of the sons can tell us more. We’re no use to anyone ‘ere.’

‘I agree but we should keep off the road in case we’re spotted. You know Eloise said the road might be watched.’

‘Let’s get going then,’ Porthos said moving towards the door. ‘I ‘ope nothing’s ‘appened to them.’

***

In the cellar, d’Artagnan sat on the floor propped up against the rough stone wall, head lowered, blood from the gash on his head dribbling down the side of his face, dripping off his chin onto his chest. He shivered slightly as the damp ground rapidly sucked away his body’s heat. He wasn’t quite ready to try standing yet though as the pounding in his head intensified with every movement. It had been several minutes since Marc had left after beating him and in that time he had managed to recover his wits sufficiently to realise the situation they were in. If Athos had been caught, what of his other two friends? What of Eloise? He desperately prayed they were safe. 

His thoughts turned to Athos who hadn’t made a sound since being thrown on the ground like a piece of garbage despite d’Artagnan’s repeated attempts to rouse him by calling his name.

As he called out again, another thought passed through his mind: he should have thought before he spoke. It was mentioning the Musketeers that had caused Marc’s anger. He hoped he hadn’t put his brothers at risk. Athos wasn’t going to be pleased with him if he had - he would have kicked himself if he hadn’t already been beaten up. Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut?

‘Athos,’ he called again, louder this time. Still no sound from the older man. ‘Please don’t die,’ pleaded d’Artagnan as he attempted to inch closer trying to ignore his throbbing head. Mud squelched under his knees and hands as he crawled to the limit of his chains. If he turned around and stretched his legs out he might just reach him. The need to touch him, to offer some comfort, was overwhelming even if it was the merest touch of his foot. He lay flat out on the muddy ground but luck was not with him. He was a few inches away still. d’Artagnan cried out in frustration as he yanked at his chains with all of his strength, anger giving him a renewed energy. All that did was to increase the pain in his wrists and head. He gave up, his heart heavy with worry, guilt and helplessness. He rested his head on his arms as a single tear rolled down his cheek joining the mix of bruises, blood and mud already there.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all those who have left comments and Kudos. Here's the next instalment ... hope you enjoy it.

As Eloise was being freed to go having upheld her end of the bargain, Marc came storming in, door slamming against the wall. 

‘Father, that boy claims to be a Musketeer,’ he threw the woman a dirty look. 

‘If he is one then the other surely is too. What if the King is involved? They’re not called the King’s Musketeers for nothing,’ Georges said.

‘Damn it! Be vigilant. Others could be on their way,’ his father warned. 

‘I need to get the truth out of him - and her. He said something about a plan when he saw his friend,’ Marc said. 

‘You do that. No lasting damage though. I still need him in one piece to sell. But if he’s a trained soldier he may fetch us an even higher price,’ the tax collector said. ‘Georges, go and scout the road. If you catch sight of any Musketeers, shoot if you’re able. If not, ride back as fast as you can to warn us. And you,’ he turned menacingly to Eloise, ‘It seems you may have outlived your usefulness woman. If it’s as that boy says then I will take you, all three of your children and your farm.’ He tutted and walked away muttering, ‘I should just have done that in the first place. Saved me all this bother.’ He walked out slamming the door behind him. 

Ignoring her protests, Marc retied Eloise’s wrists securely and threaded the end of the rope through a ring on the ceiling so that she was standing with her arms raised slightly. ‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ he snarled sending shivers down Eloise’s back but she simply stared ahead vacantly in an attempt not to provoke him further and play into his hands. ‘But you know what I’ll enjoy most? Playing with that boy.’ He laughed evilly and went to get the ‘boy’. 

d’Artagnan rose unsteadily to his feet when he heard the door being opened. He was relieved to see Marc alone as that meant that Porthos and Aramis had not been discovered. He knew it was vital to keep their presence a secret for there to be any chance of a rescue. 

‘I’m going to have fun with you,’ Marc crowed as he unchained him from the wall. d’Artagnan stayed silent. ‘Nothing to say? You had plenty to say earlier.’ 

d’Artagnan saw his chance. He yanked the chain towards him as soon as it was free from the wall and spun round to whip it across Marc’s face. Marc, caught off guard, gave a yelp of pain as he staggered backwards clutching his face. The Gascon moved rapidly towards the door then paused, unwilling to leave Athos behind but knowing he had no hope of escape if he tried to take him too. Unfortunately he hadn’t thought this through. That pause cost him. Marc jumped on him from behind, tackling him to the ground and landing on top of him squeezing the air out of his lungs. 

‘You’ll pay for that,’ Marc growled menacingly in his ear before landing a punch to his head right on the earlier wound that had almost stopped bleeding. d’Artagnan groaned groggily feeling the now familiar trickle of warm blood resume its journey down the side of his face as he felt himself being hauled up and thrown over Marc’s shoulder like a sack of grain. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes as he passed out. 

***

‘Umph,’ d’Artagnan spluttered as he was rudely awakened by a faceful of cold water. He shook his head, then wish he hadn’t. Glancing around taking in his surroundings, he saw he was standing opposite Eloise and, like her, his hands were secured above his head. His doublet had been removed but otherwise he was still fully dressed.

‘Welcome back,’ Marc greeted him. He received only a glare in reply. ‘Ready for some fun?’

He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, ’Do what you wish with me, only release her. What has she done to you?’

‘Oh, she’s done plenty,’ he sneered. ‘I don’t know what she told you but I doubt you know the true reason you’re here. Your exchange was planned from the start. You and your friend are to be sold to pay off her debts and then some. She’ll not have to worry about taxes for a month or two. Probably told you some sob story about her son. He knew the plan too.’ 

‘I don’t believe you!’ d’Artagnan shot an angry, questioning glance towards Eloise desperately hoping for some sign that this was a lie. She couldn’t meet his eyes. He lowered his head in disappointment. 

Marc laughed. ‘Believe me now? She’s an old hand at this game. I think you’re the fourth or fifth person she has lured here.’

‘Please, d’Artagnan, I’m sorry. I was forced into this. I had no choice. Please believe me when I say I had to do this,’ Eloise whispered pleadingly trying to catch his eyes. 

Marc turned on her, their noses almost touching, ‘You’ve done more than you were asked to which is why you’re both in this position. Why the hell did you bring Musketeers here? More importantly, how many more are on their way?’ He whirled round grabbing d’Artagnan’s hair forcing him to raise his head, ‘And what was the plan you were talking about?’

Both stayed silent. Marc picked up a length of thick chain making sure the young man saw it, ‘Payback time then. Especially for this,’ he indicated the angry welt streaking down his face. Marc ripped off the Gascon’s shirt and d’Artagnan braced himself. A clank of metal whizzing through the air preceded a vicious lash across his flank wrapping around his back. He let out a yelp of pain, arching to try to get away as it clunked and lashed down a second time leaving two parallel welts snaking round his body. The chain was only roughly finished, the jagged edges pierced through his skin with ease leaving a trail of blood beading along each welt. ‘Tell me what the plan was,’ Marc demanded walking round behind him. A third lash elicited another howl of anguish from the lad. ‘What was the plan?’ Marc repeated. Silence. A fourth lash rained down on his defenceless body. d’Artagnan’s head was swimming from a combination of the earlier blows to his head and the pain of the lashing but his stubbornness wouldn’t allow him to talk. 

Marc came back round to face him, raised his arm again and whipped the chain across the Gascon’s face this time leaving a vivid crimson welt across his left cheek on top of the bruises that had formed from the earlier abuse he had suffered. The sting was nothing like d’Artagnan had experienced before. He was half tempted to reveal all just to stop the torment but that would put Porthos and Aramis in danger and lessen the chances of his and Athos’ rescue. If Marc was focussed on torturing him then at least Eloise was safe for now. Despite her betrayal, he had no wish to see her suffer. He therefore gathered all his strength and will and stayed strong for several more lashes across his back before the pain grew unbearable. He didn’t think he could last much longer. Marc was putting all his massive strength into each lash and his body had taken about as much punishment as it could bear. His back was criss crossed with painful scarlet weals that weeped blood. He had to give Marc something … anything … just to get some breathing space. He spoke rapidly, words tumbling out in a rush, ‘The plan was for Athos to free me. That was it. Nothing else. You have him in your cellar now. And there is no-one else. We came from Paris alone. Eloise told us the road would be watched. We couldn’t risk her son’s life. What did you do to Athos? If you’ve hurt him, or worse, …’ 

‘You lie,’ Marc accused throwing the chain at d’Artagnan’s feet and kneeing him in the crotch eliciting a long groan from him. ‘I did nothing to your friend. She drugged him. Did you know she was capable of that?’ The Gascon could almost physically sense the hope draining from him at that point. ‘She wouldn’t, would she?’ he thought but it didn’t matter. His pain addled mind clung to the fact that Athos was more valuable alive than dead so right now his life was not in danger. Neither was his own he reasoned. If he was truly to be sold then he would be no use to them damaged or dead so there was a limit to what Marc could do to him. Knowing this gave him the strength to resist Marc’s taunting. 

Getting no response from his victim, Marc shrugged. ‘No more to say? But no matter. She’ll tell me the truth.’ He moved over to Eloise. 

‘No! Leave her alone. Have your way with me. Just leave her be.’ Although she had lied to him and betrayed him, he didn’t want to see her harmed. Despite his agony, d’Artagnan fought angrily against his restraints. Marc was too far away to risk another kick so the lad was powerless to do anything except yell. ‘Leave her!’ he repeated. Marc ignored him. The Gascon gave a shout of rage, angry at himself for responding to Marc and frustrated at his inability to protect Eloise. 

While d’Artagnan was being beaten, Eloise had wanted to turn away but felt she owed it to him to watch no matter how difficult it was for her to do so. She tried to block out the young man’s cries of distress but her guilt threatened to overwhelm her and she was on the verge of confessing to stop d’Artagnan’s torture just before he spoke. Marc clutched her hair tightly and forced her to look at him, ‘How many others came with those two?’

’N…none,’ she stammered fearfully doing all she could to avoid looking in his eyes. 

‘I think you need another lesson,’ Marc said grinning sadistically, ‘I’ll enjoy teaching you this one as much as the last.’ 

‘P … please. I … I beg you. There’s no more to tell. There’s only Athos and d’Artagnan. I told them you were watching the road and would kill Pierre if more than two came. Only two came. They wanted to send more men but didn’t after I begged them not to. Please believe me.’ As she was speaking she glanced at d’Artagnan who was behind Marc. He nodded encouragingly and mouthed ‘be strong’. She, too, knew the importance of keeping the other Musketeers’ presence a secret and renewed her determination to hold out for as long as she could. 

‘I’ll soon make you talk’ Marc said menacingly, going to a table at the far side of the room. The two captives looked at each other. ‘I won’t tell,’ Eloise mouthed giving a weak smile. d’Artagnan didn’t doubt her courage but he wondered how long she could hold out. He considered himself strong but he didn’t last very long he thought despondently, although he hadn’t given Marc the information he was seeking. 

Marc returned with a belt and lost no time in using it. Eloise remained stoically silent initially but, as the pain grew with every blow, she began making small moans of pain. A particularly savage blow caused her to scream. d’Artagnan winced in sympathy and tried to kick out in Marc’s direction as he circled in front of Eloise. ‘Leave her be you coward! Pick on someone your own size,’ he yelled succeeding in delivering a kick to the man’s shin. 

Marc rounded on the Gascon in anger raising the belt. Several lashes rained down covering his torso, buttocks and legs as Marc circled him. It took all d’Artagnan’s strength not to cry out when the belt thudded against his wounds. His stubborn silence enraged Marc further. He threw away the belt and punched him repeatedly, his anger now well out of control. ‘Talk. Tell me the truth. How many others came with you?’ Marc demanded. Moans of pain escaped his lips as d’Artagnan gave up the struggle to stay on his feet. He hung limply from the chains, his head lolling to the side, the pain of the manacles biting into his wrists joining the myriad of other pains all over his body as Marc relentlessly laid into him. Rivulets of blood flowed down his arms mingling with that seeping from his back and his chest that was already blood splattered from his earlier head wound which was still slowly oozing. Eloise’s screams seemed a hundred miles away. 

A door opened. ‘Marc! Stop that! No lasting damage I said! Stop!’ his father roared. To d’Artagnan’s relief, the effect was instantaneous. Marc stepped back rubbing his bruised knuckles that glistened with d’Artagnan’s blood. ‘Get them back to the cellar! Now!’


	9. Chapter 9

Porthos and Aramis eventually arrived at Eloise’s farm. They didn’t know if anyone was looking for them but as Athos had not shown up they were being extra cautious. They paused when the house was in sight. 

‘All looks quiet but we need to consider the possibility they’re being held hostage in there,’ Aramis whispered to Porthos who was standing next to him peering out between the branches of a low hanging tree on the edge of a copse. 

‘Or they may be injured,’ Porthos added quietly. ‘’Ow about we leave the ‘orses ‘ere an’ ‘ave a look?’ 

Swiftly tying their mounts to the tree, they began creeping towards the house, muskets loaded and primed and eyes scanning for danger. 

Arriving at the back door, Porthos put a finger to his lips. Aramis nodded as they strained to listen for any sounds. Hearing nothing, Aramis slowly pushed the door open with his musket. They paused again. Silence. Aramis entered with Porthos protecting his back. The sharpshooter stiffened when he saw a plate on the floor with the remains of a meal scattered around. He nudged Porthos whose eyes widened slightly as he resumed his swift scanning with heightened vigilance. 

Once inside they closed the door behind them and carefully checked the other rooms. Finding no more evidence of danger and discovering the rooms empty of people, they relaxed their guard a little but their concern for Athos, and the others, grew. 

‘Perhaps Athos followed Eloise and d’Artagnan to the tax collector’s house. I can imagine his worry over any harm befalling our youngest,’ Aramis speculated furrowing his brow. 

‘Then where are the boys?’ Porthos shrugged as he continued, ‘She may have told them to hide, or left them with a neighbour again?’

‘Someone’s coming,’ Aramis hissed clapping a hand on Porthos’ arm. Losing no time they dashed into the nearest bedroom leaving the heavy wooden door ajar. 

Three young voices could be heard. The Musketeers looked at each other with relief. Maybe the boys knew what had happened to their brother. Porthos was first to enter the kitchen. Two boys froze in fear while the third grabbed a knife pointing it at him. ‘Halt. Move any further and I’ll throw this at you,’ Pierre threatened.

Porthos immediately halted and put his hands up. Aramis who was just behind him did likewise. ‘We mean you no ‘arm,’ Porthos said gently. 

‘Who are you and why are you in our house?’ Pierre questioned not relaxing in the slightest. 

‘We are looking for our friends d’Artagnan and Aramis. We’re Musketeers too,’ Aramis explained indicating their pauldrons with a nod of his head. 

Pierre and his brothers relaxed. Pierre dropped the knife, ‘I apologise.’

‘No. It’s us who owe you an apology for scaring you. You did the correct thing on finding strangers in your home. Do you know what has happened to our brothers?’ 

‘Marc and Georges have them.’

‘They have been taken.’

‘Athos was drugged.’ 

The Musketeers looked between the three brothers who had spoken simultaneously. ‘This doesn’t sound good,’ Porthos said glancing worriedly at Aramis. ‘Could one of you please tell us from the beginning?’ 

Paul told them what had happened that morning with Pascal chipping in occasionally. When they had finished Pierre put his arms protectively round his brothers. Guilt and regret was written all over his face. ‘There’s more you need to know. My mother it seems wasn’t entirely truthful but not through choice. Your brothers are both to be sold to pay off our debts but also to raise money against the next few months’ taxes too. This is not the first time mother has been forced to do this. I imagine she asked you both to come to rescue your friends but also in the hope that you could end this whole horrible situation. She knows how wrong it is and hates that she has to do it. We hear her crying most nights when she thinks we’re asleep. Please help us.’ 

‘Oh God, I don’t believe this,’ Aramis said through clenched teeth, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘We need to get Athos and d’Artagnan back.’

‘Urgently,’ Porthos agreed nodding. He knelt in front of the boys, ‘Of course we’ll do what we can for your mother too.’ 

‘Where is she? Is she in danger too?’ Aramis asked.

‘She is still being held I think,’ said Pierre. ‘They needed to keep her until Athos was taken to be sure she kept her end of the bargain.’ He paused in thought. ‘But that was a while ago. She should’ve returned by now. Do you think she’s in danger too?’ Porthos looked up at Aramis who lightly shrugged. 

Turning back to the boys Porthos spoke, ‘I don’t know. But I can tell you we’ll do everything we can to get everyone back ‘ere safely. I’ll be very honest with you, I’m angry she lied to us but we don’t want any ‘arm to come to ‘er.’ Porthos stood up. ‘We’d better get going.’ Aramis nodded. 

‘Can I come too? My father taught me a bit about fighting,’ Pierre pleaded. 

‘No, your mother would kill us if we were to lead you into any danger,’ Aramis said with a hint of a smile at the boy’s bravery. ‘You’re needed here to protect your brothers. Find somewhere to hide and keep them safe until we get back.’ 

‘I can do that,’ Pierre said despondently. ‘Let me give you directions first. And you need to look out for the older brother Marc - he’s the big, really evil one who likes violence. d’Artagnan tried to help me when I tripped and banged my shoulder but Marc pulled him back and kicked him before taking him to the cellar.’

‘I’ll kill ‘im if ‘e’s harmed the lad,’ Porthos growled menacingly. 

‘Calm down, I feel the same but we need to keep our wits about us. We need to get there without being caught first. Let’s plan this properly.’

***

d’Artagnan and Eloise had been dragged back to the cellar by Marc who was not the least bit gentle with them. As they neared the bottom of the steps into the cellar, d’Artagnan passed out tumbling off the side of the stairs ending up lying on his wounded, unprotected back. Marc’s father brought in candles and supplies, placing them on the wooden table, so at least they could patch up the worst of their injuries or, more to the point, d’Artagnan’s. His wrists remained manacled but Eloise’s were unchained allowing her freedom to tend to his wounds.

She was unsure of where to begin. He was slipping in and out of consciousness and shivering uncontrollably now. Worryingly he was silent despite the pain he must be in. She knew she should try to get him off the cold, damp floor but she didn’t have the strength to do so. She decided the head wound was the most urgent as it continued to seep blood having been reopened at least twice since it was inflicted. She gently washed away the blood from his head and face revealing the deep gash surrounded by ugly bruising. Indeed much of d’Artagnan’s face and chest was covered in bruises - she dreaded to think of the state of his back. She put pressure on the wound then quickly wrapped a bandage round his head relieved when it finally stopped bleeding. 

A groan and movement startled her. She turned to see Athos sitting up clutching his stomach. Although pleased to see him recovered - a second pair of hands would be welcomed - she was apprehensive about facing him and having to reveal she had lied. She knew enough about these four men to know they didn’t take kindly to being lied to. 

‘What happened, where am I?’ Athos questioned looking around disorientated. Spotting his injured brother he leapt up, any discomfort immediately forgotten. The shock of seeing the state of him was like a knife stabbing his heart. 

‘Merde, is he alive? Who did this? Wait til I get my hands on them!’ Athos knelt by the lad and quickly assessed the injuries he could see. He swore again when he saw the extent of them. 

‘I think his back is worse,’ Eloise said softly with a hand on Athos’ arm. ‘He’s also freezing. Please, help me move him to the table so we can tend to him properly.’

Once facedown on the table, the full extent of his injuries were revealed. The metaphoric knife twisted in his heart releasing a tidal wave of guilt, anger and worry that flooded through him. Flashbacks of his wife and Thomas crossed his mind joined now with those of d’Artagnan. Athos swore profusely trying to focus on the task in hand and banish those images as he reached for a cloth to wash away the blood that had now mixed with the dirt of the floor. ‘We need to wash those wounds before infection sets in. He may need stitches but we’ll know more once we clean him up.’ Turning to Eloise he asked urgently, ‘Tell me what happened here. Who did this to him? Did he try to fight back or something?’ 

‘I don’t think so. It was Marc who did this.’ She hesitated. 

Athos stopped his ministrations to look at her. ‘Go on,’ he encouraged gruffly knowing by her expression that she was hiding something.

‘Umm I…I’m afraid I’ve not been completely honest with you. Please know it was not deliberate and that I have longed to reveal all to relieve my guilt.’ 

‘I don’t care one bit for your guilt. At the moment all that matters is my brother. I won’t ask again, tell me what happened. All of it. The truth.’ Athos snapped as he continued cleaning d’Artagnan forcing his hands to be gentle as rage shot through him.

‘Marc somehow found out you were Musketeers which angered him. He strung us both up and demanded we tell him who else came with us. Marc whipped him with a chain then, after d’Artagnan tried to stop him from beating me, Marc turned on him in a rage punching him mercilessly until his father came in and demanded he stop. That’s what I saw. He had the head wound when he was brought upstairs from the cellar so I don’t know how or why that occurred but it would almost certainly have been Marc who gave it to him.’ 

Rinsing out the cloth that had turned bright red once more, Athos asked, ‘And me? You drugged me didn’t you?’

Her shame-filled eyes couldn’t meet his angry, piercing look. ‘Yes, I’m afraid that was my doing. I was forced to do it. This is where I’ve not been entirely truthful for they didn’t want just one person to sell but two. And to my shame, I’ve done this several times before. You should arrest me too.’

‘Think yourself fortunate you’re a woman for if you were a man I’d have pinned you up against the wall and punched you so hard for your part in this. The only reason I’m allowing you to even be close to me is for his sake.’ He nodded towards the still unconscious man. ‘Take a good look at him! Marc may have done this but I hold you responsible for it!’

‘I’m so sorry. Please know I wanted no part in this.’

‘So why did you do it? Why prevent me from rescuing my brother? Why did d’Artagnan have to suffer?’

‘It is all part of the tax collector’s plan to get his hands on my farm, and as much money as possible out of me. He tortured me and held Pierre here until I did his will. Both of you are supposed to be sold to pay my debts and future taxes. You’ve been so good to us, I desperately wanted to tell you but I didn’t think you would come if you knew the whole truth.’

‘You are correct madam. Had I known the truth, I’d have suggested Porthos and I be the ones to offer ourselves for capture if indeed we had come at all. I thought you were better than this. How could you let d’Artagnan walk into danger especially since I know he told you of his recent experiences? What of Porthos and Aramis? Are they to be captured too? You want to make more money selling them?’ Athos was yelling now, red-faced with anger. He glared as he shrugged off his doublet, placing it over his friend in an attempt to reduce his shivering now his wounds were as clean as they were going to be under the circumstances. Stitching would almost certainly be required but their possessions had been confiscated and no sewing kit had been provided. Athos would have to ensure his brother moved as little as possible to avoid more extensive bleeding. 

‘No! We’ve kept their presence a secret despite being tortured. They’re our hope now. If they can rescue us and arrest those three men then my boys are safe. You’ve every right to be angry with me. I know I deserve to be arrested too, and will go willingly, just please give me time to ensure my boys will be looked after and give me time to say good bye.’ She lowered her voice and fondly stroked d’Artagnan’s hair, ‘Poor d’Artagnan has been so kind to me, he deserves none of this. He has been so brave.’ She looked at Athos with tears glistening in her eyes, ‘But you’re right, I should’ve told him - and all of you - the truth from the start particularly since, as you say, I knew how much trouble this lad got into for hiding things. I just want this whole desperate situation to end.’

Athos took a deep calming breath, ‘I’m sorry, I suppose you’re a victim of those three as much as us. I should never have allowed d’Artagnan to do this. It should’ve been me. I …’ A moan from d’Artagnan caused Athos to kneel at his eye level. ‘d’Artagnan, can you hear me? Wake up.’ Athos was rewarded when a pair of brown puppy dog eyes gazed in confusion at him.

‘Athos!’ he smiled weakly. ‘You’re awake.’

‘Mmm, we’ll talk about that later. How do you feel - apart from the obvious of course?’

‘Cold. Everything hurts. Everything is spinning.’

‘You’ve a nasty head wound so I’d be surprised if you didn’t have concussion.’

‘That was Marc. He got angry … I said we were Musketeers. Slammed my head into the wall. I hit him with my chains but he punched me.’ He winced, ‘Tried to escape. You told me not to. Couldn’t leave you. Sorry. Shouldn’t have done that. Disobeyed. Wasn’t thinking. Again. I…’

‘Shh, it’s okay. None of this is your fault. I’m proud of you for being so strong. When I see Marc, I’ll kill him for doing this to you. I’d kill him a hundred, no a thousand times over if I could. We’ve cleaned your wounds as best we can, you’ll likely need stitches once we’re out of here but you’ll live,’ Athos gave an encouraging smile, the relief clearly showing on his face.

‘Aramis and Porthos?’ the Gascon questioned dreading the answer.

‘We just have to hope they realise something’s wrong and come find us. Two of them against three? They could do that with their eyes shut. And I’m uninjured.’

‘You were drugged.’ Shifting his gaze to Eloise he asked, ‘And how’re you? He hasn’t hurt you any more has he?’

‘No, I’ll be fine. And so will Athos. I’m so sorry, I was forced to drug him,’ she placed a gentle hand on his bruised arm, ‘d’Artagnan please accept my apology for not telling you the truth. I’m grateful for your kindness and don’t deserve it, nor your forgiveness. It’ll be a long time before I can forgive myself for my part in all this, if ever. I’ll tell you the full story when we get out of here.’

‘Tell us now. It’s not as if we’ve anything better to do.’ d’Artagnan hissed in pain as he tried to move to sit up. 

‘Don’t move,’ Athos ordered sternly, ‘you’ll reopen all your wounds on your back.’

‘But …’

‘No arguments! Stay still!’ d’Artagnan huffed and sank back down on his stomach grumbling under his breath. Before Athos had time to give his brother a lecture on taking care of himself, Eloise began to tell her story. 

She told them Pierre had been taken three times already and each time she had been tortured until she agreed to lure a traveller back to her farm and drug him. Once unconscious, she informed the tax collector who brought back her son in exchange for the traveller. This time the tax collector had become greedy demanding two people and ordered her to go further afield to avoid suspicion. Again Pierre was held and she was tortured until she agreed to do this. 

She had come to Paris planning to hire two labourers under false pretences but then saw the red guards and thought to hire them as body guards. When she was thrown out of the palace and met d’Artagnan, she was upset and about at the end of her tether and told him far more than she had planned to. She knew the reputation of the Musketeers and thought that if two travelled separately then those two would be able to rescue them and end this dreadful situation she found herself in. She finished by saying the guilt of handing innocent people over to be sold was destroying her and repeated her comment about deserving to be arrested too. 

‘No, I won’t see you arrested,’ d’Artagnan said firmly. ‘I don’t believe any of this is your fault. You won’t arrest her will you Athos?’ Athos slowly shook his head. ‘Good. And of course I forgive you. You only did it because you had no choice, I know that.’

‘Know that I’m not happy with what you did and the fact you lied to all of us but I’ve no desire to cause you any more pain than you’ve been through and, if d’Artagnan can find it in his heart to forgive you, then so can I,’ Athos stated. ‘Now, how about we prepare for the others who’re coming to rescue us. Help me look around for anything we could use to defend ourselves or to enable an escape. Check the walls and floor for loose bolts or nails. And d’Artagnan,’ he pointed an accusing finger at the Gascon who was beginning to sit up again, ‘Don’t you dare move! We’ll manage ourselves.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thanks for reading. It's looking like there will be another three chapters to this story but the next three weeks are busier than usual so it may be a while before I edit and post them. I will get them up as soon as possible.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting the next chapter up. I've been even busier than I anticipated. Hoping to get the rest done by the end of the year.

In the cellar:

Eloise and Athos assessed their ‘weapons’ laying them out on the table alongside d’Artagnan: three rusty nails about four inches long; a palm-sized piece of broken glass and a few chunks of broken bricks. 

‘Better than nothing I suppose,’ commented Athos trying to be positive, ‘Porthos would probably be able to fight off a small army with this lot.’ 

‘One nail and a chunk of brick each, what more could we want?’ smiled d’Artagnan sitting up with a struggle, wincing. 

‘You’ll not be doing anything. Look at you, you’re in no state to fight and I don’t want you to risk any more injuries.’ ‘I couldn’t bear to watch you get hurt any more,’ he left unsaid.

‘Once more, I’m not a child Athos!’ d’Artagnan protested glowering. ‘I’m fighting alongside you whether you like it or not.’

‘No you’re not. And that is an order!’ Athos snapped. Again he thought to himself, ‘I know you’re not a child but you look so young and vulnerable. My heart breaks just looking at you.’

‘To hell with your orders. I’m going to fight for my, our, freedom as much as you,’ he retorted angrily. At this point in time he wasn’t quite sure he could manage to do that but he would give his all even although he was already bruised, bleeding and concussed.

Athos glared fiercely at him but before he could reply Eloise spoke up, ‘He has a point. If us two are overpowered, it could end badly for us all, including d’Artagnan. If you allow him to fight too, we’ll have a better chance.’

He dismissed her comment with a flick of his hand remaining focussed on his brother. ‘Don’t be an idiot! Look at you, you’re struggling to sit up, how do you think you’ll manage to stand on your feet and fight? No, my order stands and I’ll not tolerate disobedience. We may be friends but we’re on duty here and you’re under my authority,’ he scolded turning away so he wouldn’t be swayed by those big brown indignant eyes that seemed to bore into him. He thought, ‘I’m sorry I’m being so harsh but I’m weighed down with guilt once more. It should be me suffering your injuries - not you.’

‘We shouldn’t be arguing at a time like this, we should work together,’ the Gason said quietly with an effort to calm his temper, ‘please allow me to do this. I don’t wish to defy your order but I will and damn the consequences.’ He had no wish to challenge the older man and be on the receiving end of his wrath but he couldn’t sit around doing nothing: his honour would not allow it.

Athos turned back giving him a long stare and sighed in defeat, ‘Alright. But be careful.’ He thought, ‘Yes, we may be in need of your help but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I lost you.’ He spoke his next thought aloud, ‘You have so much courage and determination, I’m so proud of you.’ He lightly squeezed the lad’s uninjured shoulder. d’Artagnan looked at him wordlessly, surprised his mentor had had a sudden change of heart and somewhat taken aback by the praise. 

Eloise smiled at the exchange. ‘That one’s going to cause you a great deal of trouble I can see. He’s already got you wound around his finger,’ she whispered to Athos as they moved towards the door to listen for anyone coming. 

‘Believe me I’ve been hard on him in training but it has been difficult, he reminds me of someone I knew. Someone I lost,’ he gave a snort, ‘he knew how to play me too.’ Hearing no-one coming he said, ‘Marc is mine. Describe him to me so I know who to aim for.’

 

**********

Outside the house:

Three sneezes came from behind a bush followed swiftly by a whispered ‘shh’ in conjunction with a dull thump as Porthos landed a soft punch on his brother’s arm. A barely perceptible, ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help it,’ was the last thing heard before peace descended again. 

A minute later Aramis whispered, ‘We know there’s only three of them but we don’t know where our friends are otherwise I’d say we just rush in and overpower them.’ He descended into a brief coughing fit glancing at Porthos apologetically trying to be as quiet as possible. Porthos tightly gripped his arm once he had settled, fixing him with an accusing stare, ‘Are you coming down with something? I’m guessing you didn’t think about taking your wet clothes off yesterday until you’d stitched me up. Correct?’ Aramis’ guilty look told him what he’d already guessed. ‘We’ll talk about that later,’ Porthos said in exasperation releasing his arm with a gentle shove. Aramis merely rolled his eyes and refocussed on his duty. 

A second later his eyes narrowed and he nudged Porthos. They both watched as a large, heavily scarred man stood in the front door and looked around. ‘I can’t see him Father, it wasn't him. He must still be on lookout,’ drifted over to them before the door closed again. 

‘There must be two in the house then and the third scouting around somewhere. We’d better watch our backs,’ Porthos whispered. ‘And for heaven’s sake try not to cough or sneeze.’

Ignoring the last comment, Aramis asked, ‘Any ideas?’

‘Knock on the door, overpower whoever answers then secure the other and get our brothers out of there.’

‘Forget that, looks like Georges has come to join the party.’ 

From their position behind the bush, they could see across a field to the main road. A lone rider, fitting the description given to them by the boys, had just turned off. The horse was leisurely strolling along in contrast to its rider who was keeping a sharp lookout. Aramis and Porthos silently crept closer, one on each side of the overgrown pathway leading from the road to the house. The Musketeers levelled their muskets at the man as soon as they were close enough demanding he dismount and remain quiet, his life in danger if he did not. Georges had no option but to obey and as soon as his feet touched the ground Aramis placed a hand over his mouth while Porthos secured his hands behind him. 

‘Lead us to where our brothers are. And not a sound,’ Aramis emphasised the order by placing his main gauche at the man’s throat. Keeping to the bushes Georges led the Musketeers round the house until the cellar door was opposite them. There was only one window on this side of the house and it looked safe enough to cross the grass to the door which, fortunately, had the key in the lock. 

Pushing Georges in front of them they entered. Bricks came flying at Georges accompanied by shouts and yells. A well-aimed one caused him to lose his balance and fall down the remaining steps. He lay unconscious at the bottom. Amist all this commotion, Aramis and Porthos yelled back at their companions to stop and be quiet else they alert the others. 

‘Good to see you, finally,’ smiled d’Artagnan gripping Aramis’ arm unable to suppress a wince and groan when the sharpshooter patted him on the back. 

Aramis stepped back taking in the injuries on his face now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, ‘Are you okay, d’Artagnan? What happened?’ he questioned worriedly.

‘I’m injured but it’s nothing I can’t handle,’ he said shrugging trying to be truthful. ‘Are you both alright?’ 

‘Mmm. We’ll live. Ran into a bit of trouble in last night’s storm but we’re fine,’ Aramis replied sneezing several times gaining another glare from Porthos.

Porthos and Athos had given each other a clap on the back and now Athos took charge, ‘We’ll talk later. For now we need to get out of here. Porthos secure him, he indicated the man on the floor, and everyone else - out.’

A shot echoed round the cellar followed by an exclamation of pain from Aramis. Athos, who was closest, launched himself up the steps towards Marc who was holding a smoking pistol. He bellowed with rage, desperate to revenge all that had been done to his brother. ‘Look out, he has a knife!’ d’Artagnan shouted too late as Athos staggered backwards clutching his stomach. Another shot rang out and Marc fell headlong down the steps towards Porthos. He lay twitching on the floor, not quite dead. ‘He’s mine,’ Athos growled as he crawled towards him, grabbing the main gauche that Aramis sent skidding across the floor in his direction. He slit the man’s throat then, with a primal yell, stabbed the knife through his heart for good measure before collapsing, satisfied revenge had been served.

d’Artagnan grabbed a cloth and knelt down beside Athos pressing it to his wound. Porthos having reloaded and satisfied for the moment that no-one else was coming, turned to tend to the medic who was clutching his left arm. ‘I’m fine, leave me. It’s just a flesh wound,’ Aramis grumbled elbowing the larger man away. 

For a second, no-one saw the tax collector standing in the doorway with a musket. No-one except Eloise who had been hiding behind the table. After Marc had fallen, she had seen his knife glinting where it had landed and had retrieved it. She was only hiding because Athos and d’Artagnan had insisted on it but she knew she was capable of defending herself if she had to, and she had her own reasons to seek revenge on those men who had made her life a misery. Calling out a warning, she threw the knife in the direction of the door. It sliced through the left thigh of the tax collector; a second later Porthos’ shot hit him in the chest killing him instantly. 

Porthos looked around: Marc and his father were dead; Georges was alive but still unconscious; Eloise seemed largely unhurt but was being ushered out of the cellar by the sharpshooter; Aramis needed the ball removed from his wound and stitched back up; d’Artagnan was clearly struggling but at least he was able to walk; and Athos … Porthos was unsure how bad his wound was.

‘Athos, ‘ow deep is the wound?’ 

‘It’s just a scratch, I’ll be fine. Get him out of here, he indicated the unconscious man on the ground, tie him to a horse and hand him over to the local authorities,’ he gave a knowing look, ‘unless he suffers an unfortunate accident on the way.’ Porthos nodded. Athos continued, ‘See the others safely back to Eloise’s and tend to Aramis, d’Artagnan and I will follow.’

‘Are you sure you’re fine?’ Porthos asked not trusting him to tell the truth.

‘Yes, it’s just a scratch. Looks worse than it is - now get out of here,’ Athos insisted.

Porthos gave him a long stare clearly not believing a word his brother was saying but hoisted Georges over his shoulder and joined Eloise and Aramis outside. 

Once they had gone, d’Artagnan turned to his brother with a glare Athos would’ve been proud of, ‘You’re not okay, are you?’ 

After a long pause Athos spoke. ‘No’ would have been the truthful reply but instead he said through gritted teeth, ‘I’m fine. Now let’s get you out of here.’


	11. Chapter 11

Georges began to flail around as he gained consciousness, his brain struggling to understand why he was seemingly upside down. Porthos threw him to the ground as soon as he felt him stir. 

‘Where … what’s h … happening? Who … who’re you?’ Georges stammered groggily squinting up at the large man towering over him trying to figure out what had happened.   
Porthos drew his sword as a warning, ‘You aided the capture of my brothers and abused this woman and ‘er children.’ He indicated Eloise who was standing to the side with Aramis. ‘Your father and brother ’ave faced justice. It’s your turn now.’

‘No, no, please. They forced me to help them.’ He leapt to his feet with surprising agility drawing a knife hidden in his boot. ‘You lot killed my father and brother!’ he yelled, immediately advancing on Porthos. But Porthos was quicker. Georges’ shout died as the larger man drove the sword into his heart. 

‘Justice has been fully served,’ he declared, ‘though that doesn’t help their injuries none.’ 

Aramis nodded in agreement turning to go back towards the cellar. ‘I’m not leaving them despite what Athos ordered.’ 

‘Agreed but,’ Porthos stopped him, ‘I’d give it a minute or two. Athos won’t ‘ave realised ‘e needs ‘elp yet. Thinks ‘e can be the hero. Bit like you. ‘ow’s your wound?’ 

‘I said I was fine,’ he huffed pausing near the door as he had another coughing fit.

‘Yeah, sure you are.’ He tutted, ‘No wonder the boy lied to us - you and Athos are just as bad. What example is that supposed to set?’

‘Never mind me, it’s Athos I’m worried about,’ Aramis said. ‘That stomach wound will need stitching. d’Artagnan’s in a bad way too.’ 

‘Trust me, they’ll be fine for the next two minutes. And you need stitching too.’

‘Do you always argue like this?’ Eloise interrupted. ‘Athos and d’Artagnan were arguing before you came to the rescue.’

Both looked sheepishly at her. ‘Just light-hearted banter, madam,’ reassured Aramis,   
‘bit of humour gets us through some tough times.’ 

‘Yeah, if you don’t laugh, you’d cry or something like that,’ added Porthos. They both turned towards the cellar. 

***

‘Well, we make a fine pair, don’t we? You can barely stand and I’m bleeding all over the place,’ Athos said attempting to make light of their situation once he realised the predicament they were in.

‘Don’t blame me, you sent the others away,’ d’Artagnan muttered sinking to the floor shivering still from a combination of cold and shock. He was growing angrier with his mentor as he could feel himself weakening. ‘Why did you lie to the others? Only three days ago you were all telling me off for lying and now you go and do the same.’ 

‘I’m sorry d’Artagnan. I didn’t realise how bad my injury was and I just didn’t want to worry the others. I could see Porthos was already concerned about Aramis and I wouldn’t be surprised if he still had a mild concussion from that head wound of his. I realise now that my actions have not been the best for you. You’re in as much need of medical attention as them - more in need I should say.’ He shook his head and said softly, ‘I’ve failed you.’ He paused. ‘How’s your back? Turn around if you can and let me see.’

d’Artagnan was tempted to refuse out of frustration but he had no energy left for arguing. He lifted Athos’ doublet carefully, having put it on earlier, to reveal his now re-opened weals along with extensive bruising. Athos winced in sympathy regretting his orders even more. He mentally kicked himself for underestimating how injured he was and sending the others away knowing now d’Artagnan would likely have to take care of him. 

‘’Ow’re you doing down there?’ Porthos boomed cheerily. ‘Need any ‘elp?’ He came down the steps, standing over Athos and d’Artagnan. 

‘I said I could handle this,’ grumbled Athos under his breath, frustrated at being caught out but added loudly, ‘Yes please,’ grateful to have help. 

‘Oh you can ‘andle it, can you? Look at yourself. You’re in a bad way. ‘Ow’re you gonna ‘elp the boy in your state, Athos?’

Athos looked at him in surprise, ‘You weren’t supposed to hear that comment. You know I didn’t mean that.’

‘Oh stop bickering. Let’s get out of here,’ d’Artagnan snapped, the pain intensifying now the adrenaline was wearing off.

Aramis had followed Porthos into the cellar. ‘I agree with the boy. You’re both in need of urgent medical attention. Let’s get you out into the light were I can see the true extent of your injuries.’ 

Athos nodded towards the Gascon and raised an eyebrow at Porthos who smiled and nodded his understanding. The larger man stepped over to the lad and lifted him over his shoulder. 

‘Put. Me. Down. Now.’ 

‘Stop fussing. Let us take care of you little brother,’ Porthos said.

‘Athos tell him to put me down. I can take care of myself,’ d’Artagan appealed to the older man. 

‘No chance. You are the most seriously injured of the lot of us,’ Athos replied.

‘I’m not helpless, I can still walk,’ the Gascon whined.

‘I let you help us fight in the cellar but I’m certainly not changing my mind this time so shut up and don’t embarrass yourself further by arguing with me,’ Athos said sternly. 

‘And this time I concur with Athos,’ Aramis added for good measure smiling briefly when the boy huffed in defeat.

Athos followed them outside leaning on Aramis’ good arm. ‘Tell me the truth, how bad is your wound?’ Aramis asked softly. 

‘It’s bad but I’ll live,’ Athos replied honestly. ‘I’m more worried about d’Artagnan. His back is a mess and will require stitching and he definitely has a concussion. How’s your arm? And I want the truth from you too,’ 

‘It’s painful but manageable for now. The ball will need to be removed and the wound stitched.’

‘Looks like Porthos and I will be practising our stitching then - you’re not doing it all,’ Athos stated.

‘Let’s assess everyone’s injuries first,’ Aramis said pointedly ignoring Athos’ statement. 

Once they were all out into the light the true extent of their injuries could be seen. d’Artagnan, as Athos had said, had come off worst. He looked close to passing out. Aramis and Athos had told the truth about their injuries: they were bad but not life-threatening. Porthos did still have a mild headache from his fall the previous day but, particularly in light of the injuries sustained by his friends, it was nothing to worry about. Eloise had been hurt too but she brushed aside their concerns saying she would be fine - just sore for a few days. 

Porthos found a cart and, with Eloise’s assistance, attached it to a couple of horses. The others got in. Aramis sat with his back against one side with d’Artagnan lying on his side on some straw with his head cushioned on Aramis’ lap, his eyes closed to shut out the blurred images that seemed to spin. Athos sat opposite the two of them with Eloise pressing firmly on his stomach to staunch the blood still trickling from his wound. Once they were as comfortable as they could be, they set off for Eloise’s farm. As they travelled, Athos’ eyes didn’t shift from the sight of the Gascon’s battered, blood-splattered body now brightly lit in the sunlight burning the image into his brain. ‘I caused that. It’s all my fault,’ repeated itself in his mind.


	12. Chapter 12

Back at the farm: 

‘No! I need to see to d’Artagnan first. Let me go.’ Athos struggled as best he could but he was weakened by pain and blood loss allowing Aramis to hold him down with just his good arm. 

‘Stop it Athos, Porthos is perfectly capable of taking care of him. You’re no use to him in this state. Let me take care of your wound then I’ll allow you to see him.’

‘I’m charge here not you,’ Athos spat.

‘Not when it comes to medical matters. Now lie still and let me do my job. The longer you argue, the longer this’ll take.’ He paused. ‘Or the sooner I’ll punch you.’ 

Aramis’ words pierced through Athos’ guilt, frustration and pain. He forced himself to relax, finally admitting to himself that the medic was correct. 

‘Good,’ Aramis said. His voice became gentle, ‘This is going to hurt but I’ll be as quick as I can.’ 

Athos simply nodded and grit his teeth staring up at the ceiling from the bed he was lying on. Aramis checked his needle and thread which was laid out beside him along with hot water and towels. He began by exposing the long stab wound and cleaning it as best he could. Athos grunted in pain when he began neatly stitching but otherwise remained silent and still. When done the medic cleaned the wound once more and bound it, cautioning Athos not to push himself too hard and undo the stitching. 

Meanwhile Porthos had been taking care of their youngest. Eloise and the boys had filled a bath tub with hot water while Porthos had helped d’Artagnan strip to his braies. The larger man had known his younger brother was badly injured but he was shocked by the true extent of the injuries that could clearly be seen now his clothes had been removed. He helped him get into the bath tub and gently cleaned away the dried blood and dirt. d’Artagnan had groaned in pain when the open cuts on his back hit the water but his shivering had gradually eased as the warmth seeped back into his body. 

As the lad grew warmer he struggled to keep his eyes open. Porthos got him out of the water as soon as he could then, once dried off, laid him prone on the kitchen table to examine his back. Vivid red weals criss-crossed each other with numerous small cuts where the rough metal chain had broken the skin. He counted seven larger cuts that had re-opened and would need stitching. Fortunately the weal on his cheek would heal with no scarring to mar his good looks and the cut on his head had not re-opened. 

‘Let me stitch him up,’ Aramis said entering the room and putting a hand on the larger man’s shoulder. 

Porthos turned to face him. ‘Have you taken care of your arm yet?’ he questioned raising a knowing eyebrow. 

‘It’s fine. You know I’m the neatest stitcher amongst us. d’Artagnan’s so young, he deserves the best treatment. My fine stitches will leave the barest of scars.’ 

Porthos knew this was the truth so he raised his arms in defeat and stood back. ‘As soon as you’ve finished, you’ll allow me to tend to you?’ Aramis nodded his assent. ‘How’s Athos holding up?’ Porthos asked as Aramis prepared for a second round of stitching. 

‘Sleeping. I gave him something to ease his pain which also happens to be a sleeping draught. He would have insisted on being by d’Artagnan’s side otherwise.’

Porthos snorted, ‘Honestly, the two of you are as stubborn as each other.’ 

***

d’Artagnan attended to and sleeping peacefully in the second bed in Athos’ room having been given some sleeping draught, Porthos turned to his friend who had begun coughing violently. He could feel the heat radiating off him. ‘Aramis, you’re burning up. Bed. Now.’ Ignoring his protests, Porthos carried him to the bed in another room indicated by Eloise who had come to see how they were getting on. ‘What do you need?’ she asked.

‘More hot water and towels should do for now,’ he replied pushing Aramis gently back down when he tried to sit up. ‘No you don’t. Lie still. Rest. You’ve taken care of all of us. Let me take care of you this time.’

Porthos pulled his sewing kit from the pack he carried with him. It wasn’t often he used it as Aramis was the first port of call when stitching was required but, although he wasn’t as neat as the medic, he considered himself competent and this wasn’t the first time he had had to stitch up his friend. 

‘Right, first things first, we need to get your shirt off so’s I can get to your wound.’ Porthos was as gentle as possible and, despite the pain, Aramis remained silent only hissing when he had to bend his injured arm out of the sleeve. Settling back down again, Aramis had another coughing fit causing Porthos to sit him up and thump his back until it had passed. 

‘This is what ‘appens when you don’t take care of yourself my friend,’ the larger man scolded, ‘I won’t be surprised if you end up with pneumonia and are ill for a month. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you taking care of me and the others but not at the expense of your own health.’ 

‘You don’t sound very grateful,’ Aramis grumbled knowing Porthos was right but hating having it pointed out to him. 

‘Believe me I am but at the moment I’m angry with you for doing this to yourself.’ He picked up a cloth to clean the wound. ‘When will you ever learn?’

Porthos gently chided the medic until the wound was clean mostly as a distraction. Aramis just gritted his teeth letting the words wash over him until, without warning, the larger man pulled the ball out of his arm in one fluid movement. The medic swore profusely at him bringing on another coughing fit. Porthos had performed this manoeuvre once before on his friend knowing that giving no warning was the best way to handle a wound like this where the ball was within easy reach. Once Aramis was still again, he quickly stitched up his arm and bound it. 

‘Right, that’s your arm taken care of. What do you suggest we do about your coughing?’

‘I have some Horehound in my medicine bag, made into a tea it should ease my chest,’ Aramis replied coughing again. 

Porthos was relieved to hear his brother’s breathing eased once he had drunk the tea. Aramis fell into a light sleep. Porthos checked on the others then sat by Aramis’ bed wiping the sweat from his face with some cool water every so often desperately hoping pneumonia would not be the result. ‘What a day!’ he said as he gratefully accepted the meal brought to him by Eloise, ‘I glad it’s almost over.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching remedies for coughs I came across Horehound (or Hoarhound) which is a herb from the mint family. As far as I could tell, it grows across Europe and would have been used in the seventeenth century. It is still used in some cough syrups today.
> 
> Happy New Year to everyone - hope 2016 is a good year for you.


	13. Chapter 13

A week later: 

The three Musketeers looked down at the youth lying prone in the bed. His face was a mess of colourful bruises but the swelling that had accompanied them had gone down. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for several days but this morning sweat dampened his hair and ran down his face. Aramis pulled back the sheet to reveal the wounds on his back. Blues, blacks, purples, greens and yellows formed a spectacular image that was dotted with small dark red scabs. On top of this were several lines of neat stitches - two of which were swollen and pus-filled.

‘I’m going to have to re-open these and clean out the infection,’ Aramis said despondently. 

‘Do what you have to do,’ sighed Athos forcing his guilt-filled eyes to remain focussed on the wounds. All week he had only just managed to resist going to the nearest tavern to get blind drink. It was the only way he knew that would give him relief from the guilt and grief that was eating away at him but he didn’t want to abandon d’Artagnan. He had barely spoken a word all week and the others had given up trying to have any sort of conversation with him. 

‘We’ll ‘elp you ‘old ‘im down,’ Porthos added as Aramis prepared for the operation. 

The three of them had recovered relatively quickly under the circumstances. Athos was up and about almost immediately ignoring the others’ advice to rest. He had spent his time by d’Artagnan’s bedside refusing to budge. A good sleep had restored Porthos’ spirits once he knew the medic was on the mend. Aramis had been up and about after only four days of bed rest but, not being one to lay around doing nothing, it had been more trouble than it was worth to keep him there so Porthos had tried to ensure he took things slowly - a task more easily said than done. He still had a cough but his fever had gone and his breathing was far easier than it had been. The two of them had helped out around the farm, Porthos making sure Aramis didn’t overtax himself, while Athos remained with their youngest. 

Eloise had been a fantastic host keeping them well-fed. Porthos, famous for his love of food, had declared himself stuffed each evening and had suggested she come to Paris and open an eating establishment within easy reach of their quarters. So far, to the larger man’s disappointment, her responses had been noncommittal. 

The two Musketeers took their positions as Aramis began reopening the first wound. d’Artagnan started to thrash around moaning in agony when the cloth scrapped roughly against raw, inflamed flesh despite the medic being as gentle as possible. Porthos, who was nearest his head, whispered soothingly but the effect was minimal. After what seemed like hours Aramis declared himself finished. Athos took a long look at the young lad who was now silent again and stormed out. 

‘Leave him to calm down for a bit. We’ll get no sense out of him in his present mood,’ Aramis advised Porthos who was looking hesitantly at the door. 

‘I’m worried about ‘im. I think ‘e blames himself for d’Artagnan’s condition,’ Porthos explained. 

‘Give him some time then we’ll seek him out but he’s hardly said a word since we got back here. I’m not sure how successful we’ll be at getting him to open up when he’s like this but we can at least let him know we’re here for him and that we don’t blame him for what happened.’ 

 

***

 

Two hours later Aramis and Porthos were pacing near the back door of the farm house.

‘I can’t find him anywhere. Maybe he’s gone to the village?’ Aramis said knowing what state he could be in if this were the case.

‘You keep an eye on d’Artagnan, I’ll go check the taverns. Drag his sorry ass back ‘ere if ‘e ‘as,’ Porthos said. 

He strode off to search in the village taverns. Not a laborious task as there were only two. His task was made even easier when, not long after passing the gates of the farm, he saw a foot poking out from behind a bush. The rest of the sorry-looking body was only too familiar as was the stench of alcohol. An empty bottle lay in the undergrowth, a second one was gripped in Athos’ hand. Porthos roughly poked him with his boot. 

‘Oi, get up!’ Porthos ordered feeling relieved to have found the wayward man but annoyed he had to turn to wine rather than come to them. He knew the taciturn man would probably never voluntarily confide in them. It would be simpler to deal with if he did but then Athos was far from simple. 

Athos groaned, staggering to his feet. He had only been gone a short time - not nearly enough time for him to have got completely drunk. ‘Leave me. I don’t deserve this,’ he mumbled turning away.

‘Deserve what?’ Porthos asked. 

‘Your concern. I left him.’

There was only one way to deal with Athos when he was like this. The larger man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and marched him up to the house shaking him when he tried to resist. ‘You may have left ‘im but you came back. You’re no good to ‘im in this state. Sober up and stop punishing yourself,’ Porthos said sternly as he pushed the man to his knees in front of the bucket of water Aramis had placed at the door when he spied them coming. Athos glowered at them both but obeyed sticking his head into the cold water. He re-emerged with a growl, sopping hair streaming water down his back causing him to shiver slightly. Aramis roughly dried him off with a towel then pushed him inside. 

‘Sit,’ Aramis demanded. Athos paused not liking what was going to come. Aramis’ words were repeated, reinforced by Porthos indicating a chair in a manner that brooked no argument. Athos sat. 

Aramis took a deep breath, ‘We suspect you blame yourself for d’Artagnan’s injuries but you know we all agreed with the plan including d’Artagnan himself. None of us could’ve known how things were going to turn out…’ 

‘But that’s the point, d’Artagnan did,’ Athos argued vehemently emphasising his words by leaning forward. ‘He said he had a feeling something was wrong and I chose to ignore it. I was in charge of the mission, responsibility stops with me. I should have gone instead of him. It’s my fault he’s injured.’

Aramis opened his mouth to reply but Athos cut him off by raising his hand and continuing, words rushing now in his anger. Anger with himself. ‘And what do I do when I’m injured? Send you both away and leave the lad to tend to me when I know full well he’s in no state to do that. He was in more need of help than any of us.’ Athos put his head in his hands. ‘As soon as we’re back I’ll hand myself over to Treville.’

‘No! Firstly, we all have ‘feelings’. Some turn out to be true but the vast majority are just that: feelings. I repeat what I told you. None of us could have known what was going to happen and we all agreed d’Artagnan was the best choice. He may be young and inexperienced but he is an adult and was well aware of the risks yet he still chose to go. He did well. Don’t take that from him.’

Athos made to rise not wanting to hear any more but Porthos pushed him back down with a firm shove. ‘Sit. Still. And. Listen,’ he growled. 

Aramis continued, ‘Thank you, my friend. As I was saying, secondly, you were injured, in pain. Yes, I can understand how you perhaps feel you made the wrong decision there but we both know how easy it is to underestimate how badly we’re hurt and you probably thought you could handle it yourself. You may owe d’Artagnan an apology but you don’t deserve punishment for that. We both knew you’d need our help and that’s why we stayed despite your orders. We know each other too well to just believe what we are saying to each other. That’s what makes us such a good team.’ 

‘Well said my friend, I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ Porthos said clapping him on the back. He looked at Athos and, winking, said, ‘But if your heart is set on disciplining yourself I suggest leaving off the wine for a month or two.’ 

Athos looked between the two of them. He saw no blame in their eyes, only concern. ‘I’m going to watch over the lad. I shouldn’t have left him,’ he said gruffly walking away. 

Porthos looked at Aramis and shrugged, ‘Well, we tried. Not sure we got through that thick skull of ‘is but maybe d’Artagnan can talk some sense into ‘im when he recovers. ‘Ow’s ‘e doing by the way?’ 

‘He was sleeping peacefully before I spotted you returning with Athos. I think his fever is coming down, thank God. He’ll be up and causing mischief within a week I think.’


	14. Chapter 14

Aramis was proven correct when a few days later Eloise was telling off Pierre for muddying her freshly cleaned kitchen floor. d’Artagnan walked in on the scolding having heard her raised voice. He admitted it was his fault. He had been teaching the boy some fencing moves and they had been so engrossed in the lesson that it had taken several minutes before he had realised where they were and took the fight back outside. He had told Pierre he would clean up but had forgotten. In truth, he had been exhausted and had gone to lie down for five minutes but had fallen asleep. To d’Artagnan’s chagrin Aramis, investigating the raised voices, chose that moment to enter the kitchen which earned the Gascon another scolding for being out of bed before he’d been given permission to do so. Aramis almost hit the roof when he discovered precisely what he had been doing earlier. 

‘But I’m bored,’ the lad whined. 

‘I don’t care. Bed rest is essential for your recovery. One more day in bed and then, and only then, can you get up. If I discover you up once more today then you’ll be spending at least another two days in bed. Understand?’ d’Artagnan nodded, defeated. ‘Good. Now back to bed with you and I’ll come and check your stitches in a minute. God help you if any of them have come undone.’ 

When d’Artagnan had shuffled off the medic apologised to Eloise saying it was like having another child around. He offered to clean the floor but Pierre volunteered to do it as he had been partly to blame and Athos was doing some of his other chores anyway. 

By this point the three Musketeers were almost back to full health. d’Artagnan’s fever had broken the day after the infected wounds had been restitched and he was healing nicely now. The bruises marring his face, arms and torso were gradually fading. The head wound would likely scar but his long hair would hide it and the mark on his face had faded into a yellowing bruise which couldn’t really be seen against his tanned skin unless up close. He would just have to take it easy for another week or two until his back was fully healed. 

As soon as he knew their youngest was recovering, Athos had thrown himself into helping out on the farm rather than watching over the Gascon. It was clear to them he was still brooding over his actions and, despite repeated cajoling to go and talk to d’Artagnan, he merely poked his head round the door to check everything was okay. He wasn’t ready to forgive himself, or allow anyone else to, but the night before the enforced bed rest was up he came and sat by d’Artagnan’s bedside. 

‘If you’re here to tell me off for being out of bed this morning then save your breath. Aramis has already had a go at me,’ the Gascon muttered sitting up. 

‘I’m not here to fault you. I need to apologise,’ Athos said quietly, glancing at his brother then lowering his head.

‘Apologise? What for?’ d’Artagnan asked puzzled.

Athos took a deep breath and looked directly at his brother, ‘I allowed you to get into this mess in the first place and I sent the others away without considering your injuries and the implications my order would have on you.’

‘Wait a minute, it was my choice to be taken captive. We all agreed. None of that’s your fault and don’t you dare wallow in self-pity thinking you somehow caused all of this. And in the cellar? Yes, at that moment I admit I was angry with you for lying to the others but I know you’d never deliberately cause me any more stress or pain.’

Athos shook his head, ‘I failed you in that cellar. I’m going to hand myself over to Treville as soon as we reach Paris. If he dismisses me then that’s what I deserve and so be it.’ 

‘What? No Athos! I won’t allow it. I’ll tell Treville none of this was your fault and that you behaved honourably. All you’re guilty of is underestimating how badly injured you were - not surprising with everything else that was going on so stop blaming yourself and move on.’

‘You were right in the cellar though. It was hypocritical of me to lie when we had not long lectured you on the importance of telling the truth. I should have stopped to consider the implications of my words.’

‘You all told me no-one was perfect and you only expected the truth from me. You were right to do so as you’re still getting to know me so you rely on me speaking the truth. Maybe your words were a lie but your body language certainly wasn’t and I now know enough about you three to know that you’re all more than capable of reading each other without speaking. The other two knew exactly how badly injured you were.’ 

Athos stared at the Gascon looking for any sign of insincerity but found none. ‘Is that truly how you feel?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Yes! And I’m sure Aramis and Porthos feel the same way.’ 

Athos was thoughtful for a minute. ‘Mmm perhaps you’re right. They did try to tell me. If you all feel that way then maybe I need to try and forgive myself.’

‘If you still blame yourself, I forgive you for that momentary lapse in carrying out your duty with perfection,’ d’Artagnan said with mock seriousness.

Athos raised an eyebrow, ‘Humph, I’m far from perfect,’

d’Artagnan grinned, ‘Exactly so no more talk about guilt or handing yourself to Treville.’ He stretched out his arms, palms up. ‘I got out alive, didn’t I? We all did.’

Athos tenderly took the hand nearest him, ‘That may be so, but your ordeal has left its marks. Look at your poor wrists, to say nothing of the scars on your back.’ He lightly stroked the lad’s cheek along the length of the bruise then brushed his hair back to reveal the scar on his temple. ‘And your face …’ 

‘I’ll heal. And the scars? I’ll wear them with pride like you all do yours. I’ll be showing them off in taverns and boasting about what I did on my first real mission just like you all do.’ 

‘That may be so but I’m never letting you out of my sight again in future. If anyone tries to hurt you, they’ll have to go through me first.’

‘Athos!’ d’Artagnan whined pouting, ‘I’m not five years old. I don’t need you to hold my hand. That would be so embarrassing.’ 

‘Better you being embarrassed than injured or dead. Deal with it or stay behind: it’s non-negotiable. I care too much for you to see you in this state again.’ He shook his head as he stood. ‘I don’t know how you manage to get me to talk of these matters so easily but that’s enough talk of guilt and feelings for one day, indeed for a month. Stupid question but are you hungry?’ 

d’Artagnan nodded grinning, ‘Thought you were never going to ask.’

‘Come and join us in the kitchen then.’

The lad looked at him in surprise, ‘You’re allowing me to get up? Does Aramis know? I don’t want to get on the wrong side of him again today. He’s almost as frightening as you when he’s angry.’

Athos raised an eyebrow, ‘Hmm is that so? Yes Aramis knows. Are you able to especially after that stunt you pulled this morning? If not, we’ll come to you.’

‘Are you kidding, I’m fine. I’ve been desperate to get up for the last two days. I’ve been going mad with boredom,’ he said eagerly clambering out of bed.

‘Come on then little brother, all this talk has made me hungry too. Eloise has prepared a feast for us. She’s a great cook.’ He paused at the glare, ‘What?’

‘I told you, don’t call me little. You’d better watch your back!’

‘Ach, a skinny pup like you will never get the better of me.’

‘Oh yeah? Wait and see. And I like ‘pup’ even less old man. I would ask how old you are but I know you can’t count that high.’

‘Cheeky imp! If you were twice as smart as you are, you’d still be an idiot.’ He turned to leave the room.

d’Artagnan playfully kicked Athos’ backside. When the older man rounded on him the lad laughed, ‘Told you to watch your back.’ He took a step back raising his hand in warning when Athos looked as if he was going to retaliate, ‘Ah ah, better not touch my wounds or Aramis will have something to say about that!’ 

Athos merely growled admitting defeat - for now. They walked through to the kitchen still trading threats and insults. The others looked up in pleasant surprise to see their leader smiling, thankful that all was well again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks! A big thank you to all who have read, commented and left kudos. I'll be busy moving house and jobs over the next month or two - I just hope I'll have time to watch the new series when it starts ;-)


End file.
